Forbidden Magic
by Drummerchick7
Summary: Thrust from the Circle's watchful gaze, Solona Amell fights to save Ferelden from the Blight. Along the way, she learns of love, the world, and herself, and becomes more powerful than anyone could have possibly imagined. Leliana/F!Warden, Zevran/Wynne, probably other pairings as well. Rated M.
1. Prologue

_Hello! So, I've been wanting to do a Dragon Age fic for a while now. An idea was floating around in my head, but it wasn't compelling enough to write down until I started the game as a mage recently. Then it got interesting, and what you're about to read in the prologue is what I sort of narrated to myself as I made my Warden; sort of an explanation to myself for __**why**__ should would have the appearance I was giving her. I have a bit of this written, which allowed me to go back and make the beginning something that was actually, you know, legible._

_There will be some tweaks to the story, and I've come up with something different for my mage that hopefully makes this different enough from just a novelization of the game that it'll keep people's interest. It also won't be a regurgitation of game dialogue or plot events, though you will see some of the more unforgettable in-game conversations make an appearance. I want to follow canon, but I will also be straying from it, sometimes in little ways, sometimes in major ways._

_There will also be some reference to characters from DAII. It will also involve Mature woman-on-woman action. Eventually. You have been warned. Also, it's a working title, for now._

_Lastly, any and all feedback is welcome. I want this to actually be good - my pride can take it, if you have some constructive criticism. This is the longest project I've even embarked on - your feedback will probably be what keeps me going._

* * *

**Prologue**

_They cut her hair in punishment; held her down and cut it all off, not bothering to avoid nicking her scalp with the shears. They did not stop there, however, finishing the job by lathering her head and shaving her bald._

The feel of the razor as it scraped over her head made her wince, though she was smart enough to keep from doing so. She couldn't just hear it; she could _feel_ the sound, feel every strand as it was cut. Her arms were manacled behind her back, her face held in place by strong, armored hands, the metal of the gauntlets biting into her skin. She glared venom at the man holding her in place, who steadfastly avoided her gaze.

She had just wanted her freedom. She wanted to see her family, experience the world a little. So when she'd stumbled upon her phylactery while tidying up the storage area, she had taken her chance, slipping it into her pocket before bed that night. Two days later, she had snuck through the halls of the Circle Tower, using a spell to slip out a window and land safely many feet below. She smashed the vial containing her blood and discarded the shards in the lake, swimming the frigid waters to her freedom. It had been incredibly stupid to do so, but she was confident she could return her body to its normal temperature once she'd hit land.

She had succeeded, travelling with what money she had borrowed from Jowan to Lothering, seeking out family in the last place she had known them. She had not found her parents, but she had found kin, and had spent many weeks with them. As the trees started blooming, she'd left their abode, striking out for the capital, where she'd been told her parents now lived.

* * *

_The next step in her humiliation was to mark her skin permanently, so that everyone who ever saw her would know that she had tried – and failed – to escape._

Three men were needed to hold her down as they tattooed her skin, putting a remarkably pretty-looking flourish on her face, starting just under her right eye. It hurt, but she refused to show that it did. She would forever be marked apostate, as a mage who had attempted to leave the "protection" the Chantry offered. It was never clear whether they meant protection _for_ the mages, or _from_ the mages.

Growing up, she had believed everything she was told. She felt guilty for her power, vowing to the Maker to make up for it by learning everything she could. She vowed to be more in control than any other mage thus far. Instead, by reading and learning so much through the vast library available to them – their only chance to experience anything outside the Chantry – she had come to the realization that she lived in a gilded cage. It might have warm beds and hot food, but she and her kind wielded a power that could be used for good, and instead, they were kept away from society, like lepers. Which, as it turned out, was something magic could _cure_, if only they were let out of their cage to _help_ those in need, instead of just those who could pay the Chantry and the Circle for their services. It disgusted her, and she began to long for a way out.

She'd found it, found her kin, and eventually, found her parents. Her parents, who had panicked and turned her into the Templars as soon as she'd fallen asleep that night. She had woken to three armed and armored men incanting their energy-draining spells, and she had been pulled from her parents home gagged and bound, tossed into the back of a cart and losing consciousness on the road.

Now she was here, the biting needle and stinging ink marking her forever as a mage who had failed to keep her freedom. She would never forget that betrayal.

* * *

_She was then thrust into her Harrowing, with no rest, no food, not even a healing ointment for the nicks on her head. Her face was still red and puffy from its earlier marking._

The First Enchanter, Irving, her lifelong teacher, wore an expression of such disappointment as she was frog-marched to the lyrium podium. He did not expect her to survive. The Templars surrounding her did not expect her to survive.

Her expression hardened. She would prove them wrong.

* * *

She defeated the demon, and sniffed out the true risk – Mouse: a demon, not a downed mage. They were all so surprised when she awoke, in full control of herself. Cullen nearly fainted, walking her back to her room with a spring in his step. He stammered as he bade her goodnight, and she slept the sleep of the dead until Jowan woke her. He had listened and held her as she poured her ordeals out to him, sharing his own in return.

Now that she was a full mage of the Circle, she could help him.

Only it didn't go quite as she might have hoped. Jowan _had_ been a blood mage. He was able to escape, but she felt uneasy with it. The only reason she didn't end up being made tranquil in punishment – a completely inappropriate use of the Rite of Tranquility, but no one seemed to be willing to split hairs – the visiting Warden-Commander had stepped in, invoking the Rite of Conscription and taking her away with him. She only wished that she'd broken the rules _before_ her new phylactery had been sent to Denerim.

Punishing weeks on the road, followed by her first encounter with the Darkspawn and an introduction to the legend of Flemeth in the flesh, and she was drinking Darkspawn blood after watching her fellow recruits succumb either to the Taint or the fear of it. The next night, they were all betrayed by a hero, and the only thing she could think as she was overwhelmed was, "Lovely…"


	2. Chapter 1 - Lothering

Chapter 1 - Lothering

She awoke with a start.

"Easy! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The voice came into focus. Alistair. So none of it was actually a dream. The fight at the Tower of Ishal, the wood legend Flemeth saving them and sending Morrigan along with them. "Were you dreaming, Solona?"

She didn't answer, just sat up and gave him a nod, running a hand over her head. It had been a month since Duncan had taken her from the Tower. Her hair was growing out, presenting her with a short bristle of maybe an inch over her entire head. The lack of soap made it soft, at least. And she hadn't needed to brush it over the last month at all, which was incredibly convenient, as she didn't own a brush anymore.

"The dreams are the most unsettling part, I think. It takes a while, but they do subside. You'll have some sleepless nights until then, however." His voice was light, but his eyes were sympathetic. Solona appreciated it, but trust of the Templar was coming very slowly. It helped that they'd survived Ostagar together, but it didn't change that it had been Templars who had held her down, Templars who had so permanently marked her, Templars who, at the direction of the Chantry, had controlled every aspect of her life until Duncan had taken her away from the Circle. Alistair was kind, but his brethren had been anything but, and even he didn't seem to think much of apostates, if the things he'd said about Morrigan were any indication.

After a few minutes of silence, she stood, heading off into the woods to relieve herself. The dog got up and followed her, making sure she was all right before heading off to ensure no one disturbed her privacy. In addition to not sleeping well, the trail food was wreaking havoc on her stomach. It made for too many embarrassingly long trips to use the privy, or, rather, a hole in the forest floor. This was not helped by her suddenly voracious appetite. Morrigan had taken no pains to show her contempt, calling her a spoiled Tower child, a willing prisoner who was too used to good food and a soft bed. Solona said nothing to contradict her because the other mage was right – she had lived in the lap of luxury when compared with Morrigan's existence. She couldn't help but feel that Morrigan had come out the stronger for it.

The witch clearly did not know that the tattoo upon her face marked her as an escaped and reclaimed mage, but she had not yet enlightened the woman. The failure was shameful enough as it was.

When she returned to the fire, she sent Alistair off to bed, taking the last watch of the night with the dog. She'd decided to call him Max, the name she'd hoped to give a dog when she was a little girl, before the Circle. He was a good dog, understood most of everything she said. And he was a blessedly silent companion, comforting and warm, a solid presence, without endless prattle. It wasn't that she didn't like conversation, but right now her only conversation partners were a Templar and a surly witch who saw her as the epitome of everything the Circle stood for.

She sighed. Life had become much more difficult for Solona Amell.

* * *

The highwaymen lay dead at their feet.

They had been fools, really, to try to hustle two mages, a warrior, and a giant mabari war hound. Solona really didn't feel too awful for killing them. Now, though, she was presented with an entirely different dilemma from when she had just needed to decide whether or not to kill them.

"So what do we do with all their things? There's no way we can return any of it to the poor sods they took it from." Solona poked the dead bandit leader's shoulder with a toe.

"Take what we need and leave the rest." Morrigan's answer was curt and to the point, very much like anything she had ever said in their company.

Alistair answered her angrily. "We can't do that! It doesn't belong to us! We could put word out that the refugees here could come looking for their things, at the very least!"

Solona tried very hard not to roll her eyes. "Morrigan's right. If we can find things we need, we should take them. We could even sell some of the more valuable items at some point. Better us than scavengers, anyway. At least with us it'll help to stop the Blight."

Morrigan's smirk bordered on a sneer. The two mages bent to begin gathering coin purses, Alistair grumbling as he began shuffling through the crates. In the end, they each had a fresh change of clothing, an assortment of weapons they could sell, and the donkey that had pulled the bandits' cart. Their haul had been good and, all in all, they would be living more comfortably from now on – even Alistair admitted it.

"Where should we go now? There's a Chantry here, I could see if I can find any news." Alistair led the donkey. He had quite the eclectic collection of talents, donkey-handling apparently among them.

Solona answered him before Morrigan could throw in a biting remark. "You can go there if you wish, but you'll have to excuse the two of us. I expect we would be less than welcome there at the moment."

"But you're a Grey Warden!"

"I may be, but Morrigan is not. And we have no way to prove it. And besides," she added, gesturing toward her face and hair, "they will see the mark of an escapee long before they will stop to listen to our tale."

Morrigan's face took on an interesting expression, but she didn't say anything. Alistair deflated some as Solona's explanation. "I suppose you're right. Well, how about you take care of selling these things?"

Solona nodded. "I can do that. I have family in Lothering I need to see first, however. I'd like to see if I can't convince them to flee before it's too late."

Alistair eyebrows rose toward his hairline at this. "Family? You didn't say you were from here."

"I'm not. I have an aunt here. She and my cousins took me in for a while when I escaped the Circle." _It was my decision to seek out the parents I hadn't seen since I was five that sent me back to the Circle_. She left that part unsaid.

"Alright, well, I guess Morrigan can, then? Will you be all right with that, Morrigan?"

"You need not concern yourself with me. I will sell these items, purchase things I am in need of, and meet the two of you at the tavern? We may as well get a meal while we are here, yes?"

"Sounds good to me." Morrigan nodded and began to pick her way alone along the road toward the village. Alistair rolled his eyes and turned back to Solona. "Would you mind taking the wagon?"

Solona nodded, taking it without further comment. She was looking forward to seeing her cousins. Maybe she could even bathe, eat a meal that hadn't sat in Alisair's backpack for two days before being passed to her cold. _I really am soft. I want to see my cousins for creature comforts, at least as much as to warn them of the Blight_.

She finished berating herself and picked up the pace, losing track of the others not long after. Max trotted along at her side, obediently leaving the donkey alone. They would have to restock for the animal, find a farrier for its feet at some point, but it was well provisioned for the moment. The dog was another story. She idly wondered if he could hunt.

* * *

Her aunt Leandra's house was on the edge of town. It was a modest size. Their children had to share a room, but what family didn't have to do that in a town like this? She'd spent some time here when she'd originally run from the Circle, participating in some delightfully normal activities, like gardening, cleaning, and cooking. Carver had been home briefly on leave and had taught her some about bladework, and their older sister Marion, also home on leave, had taken her out drinking for the first time. She'd even lain with one of the barmaids, an opportunity she had never had in the Circle. It didn't matter that Marion had probably put the woman up to it; it had been wonderful and eye opening, and Solona couldn't wait for the opportunity to present itself again.

She and Bethany had had the most fun together, however. They learned a great deal from each other. Bethany learned some of the spells and disciplining exercises Solona brought from the Tower, while Solona learned some of the more forbidden spells and meditation techniques they did not teach in the Circle. Solona was convinced that she would not have survived her Harrowing had it not been for the many nights she had spent awake and practicing magic with Bethany. Which, of course, only served to confirm her opinion that the Circle made mages weak so as to control them better, whether any one person was doing purposely or not. The sheer number of mages in that one place wielded the power to overwhelm their captors ten times over, and yet they huddled with their books, sleeping on their warm beds and eating their hot food. She was ashamed to think she'd been like them for so long. At least she'd gotten Jowan out…

She still didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was actually incredibly proud of him for finding the information required to begin practicing blood magic. On the other hand, it was incredibly dangerous, and skirted the edges of being willing to make deals with demons. And as she'd learned during her Harrowing, demons generally didn't force themselves upon you. They were clever, devious, more likely to persuade you than to fight you. They seduced with power, your own desires their weapons to tempt you. By not going through his Harrowing, he had no experience with this temptation.

_I sound like the Circle. What do I want to do, force him to face a demon so that I know he can withstand temptation? How is that fair or just?_

Her introspection ended when the door was answered. Her aunt's face poked out, a pleasant enough expression on it. Her face lit up at first when she saw that it was her niece, bringing a surge of warmth into Solona's heart. She'd only spent a small amount of time with the woman, but it hadn't been that long ago, and it had been the most joyous part of her life this far. Her aunt's expression quickly fell, however, as her eyes swept over Solona's extreme appearance, taking in the short hair and tattoo on her face. Solona's chest constricted some; she didn't cherish the thought that she would have to tell her what had happened to her, how her parents had greeted her return.

"Oh, you poor dear. Come in, come in. I'll have Bethany take care of your donkey, and you can tell us what happened." She moved back to make room for Solona to pass through, not even commenting on the giant mabari war hound that followed at her heels.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Aunt Leandra. I was passing through, and it didn't seem right to not come speak with you." She signaled for the dog, and he trotted off to curl up on the floor by the wall.

"It's no trouble at all, child. Are you hungry? Let me get you something; you look like you've lost all the weight I put on you when you were here last. And I'll find Bethany, too. Just take a seat at the table there."

Solona smiled to herself. He aunt was a busybody; there was no getting around it. As she moved from the hall to the kitchen, she stopped dead. Sitting at the table was a Chantry sister. The robes caught her attention first, but the woman's face became the mage's main focus after only a second. She had fiery red hair, pale skin, and lips that pouted in just the right way to make Solona want to grab her and kiss her. She couldn't decide if she should thank the Maker for putting the beautiful creature right in front of her, or curse him for wrapping her in the vestments of the organization that had marked her so permanently as a criminal.

When she had spent time with her cousins, it had become clear to her that she was attracted exclusively to women. And then she had started noticing just how _many_ women always surrounded her. Before she had spent time with Marian, who also fancied other women, she hadn't given much thought to it. As a mage of the Circle, you were not allowed to take a lover, nor to marry or bear children. Sometimes a mage would become pregnant mysteriously. The father was always found out – usually one of the Templars – and sent far away in shame, the child taken from the mother immediately and raised by the Chantry. Solona had learned to simply ignore that part of herself, burying herself in books and learning.

Until coming back to Lothering and spending time with an apostate and her accepting family.

Solona found that, as she studied the Sister before her, she, too, was being studied. The way the woman looked at Solona made her curious. The woman was almost shocked. She murmured something to herself, setting her cup down and staring unabashedly at the mage. They made eye contact for a moment that stretched into eternity, until Leandra reappeared, breaking the spell.

"Oh, Solona, I swear, I can't believe that you got so damn _tall_!" She found herself being hugged by the shorter woman, and couldn't help but smile.

"Well, the Circle was good for one thing, at least – I never did go hungry." She was released and pushed into a chair, a plate of bread and cheese being set in front of her.

"Oh, my manners! This is Leliana, a lay-Sister of the Chantry, dear. Don't you worry – she's friendly to our family."

The Sister seemed to rouse herself from introspection, offering a pleasant smile. "It is wonderful to meet you…" Leliana trailed off, eyebrows rising questioningly.

_Orlesian to boot? Be still, my heart!_ Solona held out her hand across the table. "Solona Amell. It is good to meet you, as well, Lady."

She was surprised to watch the Sister blush and smiled to herself. The things she had learned from the elder Hawke definitely had an effect on women, then.

"So why are you here, Solona? You looked… very different, when you were here a few months ago." Leandra's voice was softer now, less exuberant, and only softened more as she spoke. Leandra knew _exactly_ what the shaved head and marks upon her face meant.

It was a touchy subject, and she wasn't sure she wanted to share in front of a stranger. She took a bite of cheese and a hunk of bread to buy some time. While she chewed, Leliana spoke up.

"I should be going. I don't wish to pry into your family matters. Thank you for the tea, Leandra."

She watched the redhead leave, grateful for the privacy, but sad that she would likely never see the woman again. She contemplated another bite of bread, but felt it was time to speak.

"I had an amazing time here, Auntie. I… _did_ go find my parents in Denerim. They…" She looked up, into her aunt's eyes, and tried desperately to find a way of saying it without saying it. But there was no way, so she hung her head and got through it, not daring to watch the expression on her face, nor to pause long enough for her own emotions to show. "They did not approve of my escape. They were frightened of having a mage in their home. The Templars came while I slept and took me back to the Circle."

She heard Leandra gasp, finally looking up to see her face drained of color. A pang of guilt hit her heart so solidly it felt as though she had actually been struck. She should have kept it to herself. _Damn it all_.

"I'm sorry, Auntie, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't you dare apologize! I encouraged you to seek them out. I never would have suspected they would have reacted that way! You are their _child_!" The color had come back to her face almost as swiftly as it had left it. She was now very angry.

"They have other children now," Solona admitted quietly. It had been amazing to discover the young children, just on the cusp of adulthood, who looked so like her. To be deprived of them just sank the knife of her parents' betrayal that much further into her heart. "Children they wished to save from me. The Chantry has been very thorough in teaching the ordinary folk to fear abominations." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice, no matter how hard she tried. "They feared me, feared what I might do to their children, and feared the retaliation they might receive for harboring an apostate." She heaved a sigh. "But it worked out in the end. I am free of the Circle now. Legally."

Leandra's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Yes, I-"

"Cousin!"

Bethany burst into the room, hurling herself at Solona and pulling her from her chair into a fierce hug. Solona smiled, taking the small woman into her arms and hugging her back just as tightly, lifting her off her feet momentarily. She glanced up and saw that Leandra wore a most pleasant expression, though the tension around her eyes hinted at the shock and anger she probably still felt.

"You're back! Oh, but look at you! The Templars caught you? What happened? I thought you destroyed your phylactery before you broke out? Why are you here?"

"Relax, child," Leandra gently scolded, chuckling as Bethany blushed and released her cousin. "Let her breathe, and perhaps your questions will be answered. She was just about to elaborate." Bethany nodded and sat at the table, taking a bit of the food for herself.

Solona explained that she'd been caught by the Templars, catching Bethany up to where she'd gotten with Leandra. Her cousin was just as shocked as her mother that Solona's own parents had turned her in, but was eager to hear about how she escaped again. Solona didn't go into the details of Jowan's blood magic use, saying only that she helped to destroy the phylactery of an apprentice to help him escape.

"Now, the day of my Harrowing, the Warden Commander of Ferelden was visiting the Tower. I had a chance to speak with him some. He was still there when I helped my friend escape, and recruited me as a Grey Warden before they could make me tranquil."

"Hold on. Are you saying you're a Grey Warden?" Bethany's tone made her disbelief clear.

"Yes, actually. And after the disaster at Ostagar, I am one of only two left alive in all of Ferelden."

"Wait. Ostagar?" Leandra rested a hand on Solona's forearm to keep her from continuing. "Then you might know Carver and Marian's fate?"

"They were there? At Ostagar?" She'd had no idea. What hadn't she seen them at all?

"Yes. They're in the King's army, remember?"

"Shit. The army was decimated, Auntie. There were other survivors, but they were few and far in between, and had quit the field by the time I regained consciousness." She thought it best _not_ to mention Morrigan and her mother.

"My babies…"

"Mother, I'm sure they survived. That's what Hawkes do." Bethany's voice was firm, stern, and her expression showed she was confident in her assertion, even if worried. "They'll be home soon, just you wait."

Solona shook her head. "You can't wait for them. The Darkspawn will be upon this village shortly. I came by to warn you. You must flee. Take everything you can carry, leave nothing that will aid them. They are vile creatures who have no room in this world." She thought of the Chantry Sister she'd met briefly. "And make sure your friends go with you."

"I cannot leave without my children, not without giving them a chance to come home." Leandra stood and began moving around the kitchen. "But I can make sure we're ready to go the moment they get here." She hung her head for a moment. "Or the moment it's clear they won't be coming."

"I am sorry, Bethany," Solona murmured, watching her aunt bustle around the kitchen. She had just brought so much bad news into this house.

"Don't be, Cousin. You may have saved our lives. I will help Mother prepare." She smiled, only halfheartedly, but Solona didn't blame her. This was not the happy homecoming she would have liked. There was a Blight coming, and this puny village would be lost to it before the Darkspawn were stopped by Loghain's army up north. She got up from the table, determined to help them in some way to make up for the heartbreak she had brought.

* * *

_Aaaaand here we have the Hawkes! I noticed at some point that the names matched Leandra's maiden name, so it made sense that they would be related. I think that might even be canon? I can't remember. There will be a bit more of an explanation of this later, but here you go for now. Reviews/suggestions welcome, and please, let me know if this jumps too far forward. I didn't really feel like it was necessary to go over the events of Ostagar and the conversation with Flemeth in the woods. Lothering is where my story really starts to take on unique elements, so jumping here made sense... at least, it did to me._


	3. Chapter 2 - Leaving Lothering

_A/N: Before I forget (again), props to my beta, DiabloKades, for slogging through this mess with me. She is the best sounding board, not least because she hasn't even played these games yet, and is willing to put up with my explanations for things, and reading the wiki. So. She's awesome. Go read her things._

_More A/N at the end, so as not to ruin anything._

* * *

Chapter 2

**Leaving Lothering**

Solona left the house freshly bathed and in entirely new clothing, Max trotting happily next to her.

_"You can't walk around in Circle robes. Besides, I imagine they're terribly uncomfortable on the road. No, you're only an inch or two taller than Marian, you'll take some of her things. They are meant for travel, and will keep you safer if you run into more bandits."_

Leandra had then dressed her in a light, white flowing long-sleeved shirt, hard leather vest to hold her breasts in place and provide a degree of protection, and black hose tucked into calf-high travelling boots. She then sent her on her way with food, wine, and a set of long daggers that the elder Hawke child had left at home.

Solona felt safer, somehow, dressed and armed as she was. Walking around in something other than Circle robes would help tremendously, and she even knew some of how to use the weapons, thanks to Carver, though she doubted very much that she would use them in a fight. Her magic was what came most natural to her. Still, a mage pulling a knife could be a useful surprise.

As she made her way back to the main road of the village, donkey and cart in hand, she was surprised to see the Chantry Sister from earlier. She was no longer wearing her Chantry robes, having changed into tight leather breeches and a tight blouse, showing off each of her curvy assets in an almost scandalous way without showing any skin. She was covered from head to toe, and yet it seemed Solona could see every detail of her body. She supposed it was the same for herself, dressed as she was in the tight vest and hose, but she had far less to show off than the Sister.

"Hello, again," she said as Solona approached. She fell in step beside her, hefting a travel bag upon her shoulder. Solona noted that the woman bore a longbow and a wicked set of long daggers and short tucked into in more than one inventive place for a sheath to fit, a short sword's pommel poking out from under her bow. _Some Sister._

"Hello. Leliana, was it?" She continued walking at a slow pace. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I will be frank. I know you are a Grey Warden, and I would like to accompany you on your travels."

Solona stopped, turning to face the redhead fully and raising an eyebrow as she looked down upon her. "And how do you know this? Were you listening at the door?"

"No! No, I…" She hesitated, looking away from Solona's gaze. "I saw your face in a dream. The Maker told me I _must_ accompany you on your travels. You will save Ferelden, and all of Thedas. I would help in what ways I can." She finally looked up, holding Solona's gaze with her own.

Solona, for her part, would have thought the woman was crazy, had she not journeyed into the Fade so recently. As it was, her capacity for weird was pretty high. Still. A vision?

"A vision… The _Maker_ showed you my face?"

"I know. It's crazy. I don't need you to tell me that. But nonetheless, I know your face, and I know you are a Grey Warden. And I do not wear these weapons for show." Her accent got thicker as her voice grew more impassioned, and by the time she was finished, she was standing at her full height as if in defiance. A full height that just touched Solona's chin.

Solona just smirked. "Calm down, Sister. Believe it or not, I'm not willing to call you crazy. I have spent my life thus far around Chantry Sisters."

Leliana relaxed, but also arched an eyebrow. "They have professed to seeing visions?"

Solona laughed. "No, no they haven't. But remember that I can make things move with my mind. Visions are child's play in comparison."

Leliana smirked slightly. "So you are willing to let me come along?"

Solona shrugged. "Why not? Our party is strange enough as it is, and we can use all the help we can get." She turned from her then, resuming her walk through the town.

"I… thank you, Warden."

"Just one thing."

"Yes?"

"Probably best not to mention your vision to the others. I don't know how Alistair would react, but Morrigan is the most caustic person I've met. You do _not_ wish to be on the receiving end, trust me."

Leliana giggled, a sound that fluttered about in the air and made Solona's insides churn some. "Fair enough. I shall keep it to myself."

Solona smiled at her, noting once again quite how beautiful the redhead was. _Maker, I am not going to be able to concentrate with her around_.

The introduction to the rest of the group went about as she might have expected. Alistair was nice, pleasant. Morrigan gave Leliana one appraising looking before shrugging and moving away. Max gotten one head-pat earlier, on the road to the inn, and decided she could stay, jumping up and licking her face. The laugh that followed made Solona's heart flutter once more.

They secured the donkey and cart, ready to go into the inn for a meal before they left town. Little did they know what awaited them inside the tavern.

* * *

Leliana approached the leader of Loghain's soldiers with a saunter to her step. Solona did not like her getting so close, not after she had put all of her weapons down in the cart (at Solona's insistence, no less). But a moment later, it was clear that the woman knew what she was doing.

Getting very close to the man, she cocked a hip and spoke with a voice as smooth as butter, touched with an ever so slightly thicker purr of her Orlesian accent. "Surely we can talk this over, ser?"

His eyes were glued to her, his face smiling vaguely down at her. Before he could reply, however, her hands had strayed to his hips, and in a flash she had both of his daggers in her hands. Bringing them up to cross in front of his neck, she yanked, slitting his throat in two places in one swift motion. She disengaged, avoiding most of the man's spurting blood, and the fight was on.

It didn't last long. As soon as Morrigan froze someone solid, the men couldn't get out the door quickly enough. This just made Morrigan laugh.

"Run while you can, you insignificant fools." The fact that the witch's declaration was not shouted, but drawled out in her typical sarcastic tone made it all the more chilling. Truly, Solona would be shaking in her boots if she were on the receiving end. She made a mental note, once again, to never piss the woman off.

She found Leliana kneeling over the man she had killed, finishing a section of the Chant. She straightened as Solona approached, tucking the newly cleaned blades into the belt she'd pilfered from him.

"Are you alright, Leliana?"

"Alright?" Alistair interjected, joining them as he replaced a chair he'd snatched up in lieu of his sword, which he had also left with their things, and his armor, at Solona's insistence. "Are you _sure_ she's a member of the Chantry?"

"I was, yes. And I am fine. Thank you for the concern." Max came up and jutted his head into Leliana's hip, eliciting a smile from her as she ruffled his muzzle, not even needing to stoop, so great was his height.

"I am… sorry. I am the one who insisted you leave your weapons. It was a fool thing to do. I will not make that mistake again. Clearly, I am not cut out to lead this group."

Leliana straightened, having crouched in front of the dog, looking as though she might speak, but was prevented from doing so by the innkeeper's approach.

"Out! You've spilled blood in my tavern; you'll not be served here. Out! Apostates, dogs, and a murdering Chantry Sister! Indeed, what is the world coming to?" He mumbled the rest to himself as he stalked away, turning and glaring at them until they departed. In return for having paid for meals they didn't receive, they didn't bother clearing the dead bodies out for him.

"Come on. We can set up an early camp and see if Leliana is any better at cooking than the rest of us are," Alistair said with a wry grin, leading them back to the cart that held their belongings. Having learned her lesson, Solona passed everyone his or her weapons before taking her place leading the donkey.

On the outskirts of town, they came upon a creature in a cage. It was hunched over, it's bulk barely accommodated by the massive iron cage. As they drew to a close around it, Solona noticed that it had its eyes closed and it was speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. The deep, rumbling voice suggested that the creature was male, as did the lack of breasts and powerful build, but it was alien enough that she could not be sure.

Morrigan solved the mystery for her. "I believe 'tis a Qunari, one who submits to the Qun. This one looks like a male warrior, though I cannot be sure as I only know of them from Flemeth's descriptions."

The creature's eyes snapped open, and he drew himself up to the full height the cage would allow. "You are visitors from the village. Leave. I will not entertain you."

Solona answered him. "We are no gawkers come to poke you with sticks until you sing."

"Careful. The Revered Mother says he is here for murdering an entire family outside the village," Leliana whispered, having moved up right next to her completely silently.

"It is as she says," the creature rumbled, clearly having heard the Orlesian speak. Solona noted that he had ears of some size beneath the large horns jutting from his skull. "I recognize you. You are the one who brought me food and water two days ago. For that, I thank you." Leliana merely bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"He is a magnificent creature. If no one has sentenced him, I say we bring him with us. If we do not wish his aid, or he will not give it, I would still see him free of this cage." Morrigan narrowed her eyes at Solona in challenge.

"But he murdered an entire farmstead! How could you want him free?" Alistair's sense of right and wrong was a little too black and white for Solona's liking.

"Hush, Alistair. Not a single one of us have clean hands, least of all a Templar." She turned back to the caged creature, ignoring Alistair's stung expression. "Perhaps you are looking to atone for your crimes?" He merely nodded. "We fight the Blight. Would you seek atonement fighting alongside us?"

"You are Grey Wardens? My people have heard of your order." He regarded them silently for a moment. "I see not every legend is as it is told." After another moment, he nodded his head once, seemingly having come to a decision. "I will fight for you. If I do not find my atonement fighting the Blight, I will find it elsewhere."

"Fair enough. Do I have your word you will not turn on us, even should a decision we make be against your Qun?" She'd read some on his people. She knew enough to know she needed to extract this promise. Given his size, it was probably a smart move.

"Hmmm, you are familiar with the Qun? Yes, I swear, as the ones who release me from my prison, your decisions regarding the quest shall also be mine."

With a nod, Solona turned to the rest of the group. "Think the Revered Mother will part with the key?" She had a wry grin on her face, and Leliana, at least, returned it. Alistair was still too stung, and Morrigan was apparently incapable of mirth outside of cruelty.

"Actually, I have a better plan," Leliana offered, reaching a hand behind her back and producing a small leather bundle. When she unrolled it with a flourish, Solona saw an array of thin metal blades in a variety of sizes, shapes, and thicknesses. Leliana flushed slightly at the looks she was given from her companions. "I _did_ say I wasn't _always_ a lay-Sister…"

Solona recovered first. "Right, well, that should be incredibly useful. It's certainly a talent that none of the rest of us possesses. Carry on. I'll go back to town and see if I can't find him something more… appropriate to wear." She was now looking past his incredible visage, and had noticed that the giant grey-skinned man wore nothing more than a loincloth. It left little to the imagination, making it clear that he had a rather impressive manhood that she had no desire to become more familiar with. "Your name, ser?"

"I am called Sten."

Thirty minutes later had Sten wearing the largest pair of cotton trousers she could find, which fit a little tightly, but which he deemed "acceptable," his torso left unadorned. Strapped to his back was a two-handed greatsword, a weapon he had requested from her as she left for town, and at his sides were the giant daggers Leliana had stolen from the soldier she had killed. They had dwarfed the Orlesian, but on the qunari, they seemed little more than toothpicks. He was truly gigantic.

Feeling better for the new companions they had acquired, Solona took up the lead once more, leading them out of the township of Lothering.

* * *

"So, why _did_ you insist we not take weapons into the tavern earlier?"

Solona walked at the back of the group, leading the cart while alternating between staring at her feet and Alistair's back. She felt guilty for having snapped at him earlier, and was contemplating an apology, when Leliana's soft voice sounded the question. She had fallen back and slipped up next to the Warden without a sound.

After a moment of deliberation, she answered honestly. "I've become accustomed to not drawing attention to myself. We are an eclectic enough group without walking into the tavern of a small village armed to the teeth." She laughed ruefully, shaking her head. "I certainly shall not make that mistake again."

"Well, I do not think it was such a bad reason," Leliana offered, clearly trying to assuage Solona's guilt. "The intention certainly had merit, and it seems as though we can all defend ourselves, even unarmed." She chuckled.

"It's okay, you don't need to do that. I am well aware of my shortcomings as a leader. Morrigan never fails to remind me of them, if nothing else."

Leliana clicked her tongue. "You were certainly correct in your warnings about her. Alistair said you met her in the Wilds?" At Solona's nod, she continued. "So I suppose that means the rest of what he told me about her is true, as well? A Witch of the Wilds?"

Solona chuckled. "I don't know if she is as the legends say, though I suspect her mother to be. I believe she is simply a very talented mage who had the fortune to be born outside of the Chantry's influence." She thought briefly of her parents, trying desperately to keep a scowl from covering her features. "However, the solitude, with only her cryptic mother to speak with, has left her with no concept of sociability. So while I am not nearly as powerful nor practiced as she, I like to think that what she gained in freedom, I make up for with the ability to speak to others without _completely_ alienating them."

Leliana giggled, the sound once more making Solona feel as though she were being flirted with, causing a hot flush under her dark skin. "I agree that you are a much better conversationalist. I reserve judgment on your magical abilities, as I have not yet seen them for myself." She caught Solona's eye and winked. Solona felt her face grow hotter.

After a few moments of silence, Leliana spoke once more. "I have been curious. You called Leandra your aunt, said your name was Amell, but I thought she hailed from the Free Marches? She has told me that all her Amell family is still in Kirkwall."

Solona smiled. "Yes, her family is there. We aren't as closely related as Aunt and niece, as I'm sure you could tell just by looking."

Leliana ducked her head. "It's true, you look nothing alike."

Solona laughed softly. "That's the understatement of the Age, with her skin light and my skin dark."

Leliana looked up, a twinkle in her eye. "Ah, but your hair is almost the same color! So I suppose there is _some_ resemblance?"

Solona blinked at her a moment before smiling ruefully, eliciting another giggle from the redhead. "Well, yes, you could say that. However, hers is from aging gracefully. My hair is perfectly white from head trauma as a little girl."

Leliana seemed taken aback. "Oh dear, what happened?" She hesitated before adding, "And how did it also affect your eyebrows?"

Solona smirked. "When magic first came to me, I was falling from a very large height. I don't remember what I was doing, though I do remember that it was foolish. Just before I hit the ground, I slowed myself somehow. It was abrupt, and it hurt, and I still hit the ground hard enough to be knocked unconscious. I woke up in the custody of the Templars – someone had witnessed my fall and called them, I suppose – with hair that began falling out and growing back without color." She paused to turn to the redhead, winking. "I suppose I hit my head hard enough that even my eyebrows were affected."

Leliana snorted, and Solona continued. "Anyway, you asked about my relation to Aunt Leandra. Her father and my grandfather were cousins. At some point, my grandfather bedded a very dark-skinned woman from Rivain, and took her for a wife when he found that she was with child. She eventually left, leaving him with a boy – my father. My father also married a woman of Rivaini descent, and here I am before you."

Leliana raised a brow. "So, a convoluted relation at best, then?"

Solona snorted. "You could say that. I went to them when I escaped the Circle a few months ago because I knew they would be sympathetic. Well, that, and the last time I saw my parents, we lived in Lothering." She shrugged. "It seemed the best place to go to find a friendly face."

Leliana was quiet for a moment before she responded. "If you don't mind me asking, why leave the Circle?"

Solona's features hardened. "I'm not sure that you would understand."

"If you do not wish to speak of it, I'll not pry further. You are just the first Circle mage I've ever met." She paused. "Probably because they're all in the Tower…"

Solona sighed, looking sideways at the redhead for a moment before answering her. "The Circle took me away from my parents when I was five years old – and unconscious, no less. I had no say in the matter, and didn't even get to say farewell. They raised me to fear my power, and to feel horribly guilty for damage done by the Tevinter mages years ago. When you are in the Circle, you are not allowed to visit the outside. Your entire world consists of the stone walls and the books. You are not allowed romance, nor are you allowed to even imbibe of too much food or wine. Occasionally, visitors come, but your family is never among them. They're not allowed, you see."

Leliana frowned. "That's horrible. You are never allowed to see your family again?"

Solona shook her head, her brows furrowed low over her eyes. "Not until you are a full mage, having passed the Harrowing. And by then, they are strangers, and the only people who mean anything to you are in that stone cage with you. I left because I saw it for what it was. My cage had comfort and hot food, and lots of learning, but it was still a cage, as sure as Sten's was." She smiled ruefully. "At least he was allowed to recognize it for what it was."

Leliana clearly wasn't sure what to make of that last statement, but didn't press for clarification. Instead, she asked about something else. "I take it your family no longer lives in Lothering?" Solona nodded her affirmation, eyes narrowing as she stared ahead of her. She did not like where this was leading. "Did you not look for them?"

Solona was silent for so long that she was surprised by Leliana's restraint. The woman did not push, which was possibly why she got the answer she did. "I _did_ seek them out. They were… unhelpful."

"Unhelpful?"

"They… were afraid of me, and sent for the Templars."

Leliana was silent. Solona looked over to see a war of emotions on her face, but she did not speak. "Enough," the mage said finally, sparing Leliana the need to respond to her history. "Tell me some about you. How does a lay-Sister know how to distract a man so thoroughly before killing him?"

A look she could not identify flashed over Leliana's features before she smiled. "Ah, but I was a travelling minstrel. Alas, I no longer have my lute, but the other cloistered Sisters tell me I am still quite skilled with my voice."

Solona arched a brow. "A minstrel? You killed a man without getting a drop of blood on you, and then picked a lock to let out a convicted Qunari warrior. I am supposed to believe a musician can do these things?"

Instead of exposing some truth, Leliana simply laughed. "Yes, remarkable, _non_? The life of a minstrel on the road is dangerous at times. More than one man has decided he could take what he wanted from me, and had I never learned to defend myself, they would have gotten it. I travelled with a troupe, which of course helped, and I learned how to fight with dirks and hunt with a bow. I even learned to pick locks, for work as a minstrel has never been considered steady, yes? I admit, I sometimes had to steal what I needed to survive. I gave up many vices when I left Orlais. I began to atone for them when I was called to the Chantry in Lothering."

Solona was quiet for a moment, digesting everything she'd been told. Finally, she spoke. "I suppose that all makes sense. But why Ferelden? Surely any place in Orlais is better than Lothering?"

"You would think. But my mother was Ferelden; I was born here, and I've always considered myself Ferelden. She served an Orlesian noblewoman who went back to Orlais after the war. She took my mother with me, and I went with _her_. When I tired of the life I was leading, I, like you, sought familiarity. I came across the border and wandered, playing in what taverns would have me, until I happened to attend a service in Lothering. There I stayed, though I took no vows. I found the spiritual life to be peaceful, and staying in one place for more than a month was definitely a novel thing."

Solona nodded. That made sense, she supposed, though so different from her own experience it was laughable. "Opposite of me. This is my first time on the road like this. Tell me, will I _ever_ get used to it?" _Will my __**stomach**__ ever get used to it?_

Leliana chuckled. "Yes, you will. And with me along, you might even stop losing weight." Solona's eyes snapped to Leliana, wondering if she meant what Solona _thought_ she meant. Leliana nodded in answer. "It is a common enough affliction for those used to one kitchen, one cook, one place. Your body will adjust. There is no shame."

Morrigan's voice suddenly drifted to them from up ahead. "If you two are quite finished, Alistair, incompetent though he may be, has found us an adequate place to stop for the night."

Solona's stomach dropped a little. She was so enjoying speaking with the beautiful woman. Rolling her eyes, she encouraged the donkey forward. "Come on. Duty calls."

* * *

_A/N^2: Okay, so. Some changes here. First, to the Amell family line that's mentioned in that random letter in DAII, and second, to Sten. Even though we were given far less choice in DAII, I liked the style of the game better - more artistic, the features of each person more expressive, and the fantasy creatures more stylized. I thought Sten's dramatic looks would present some interesting opportunities later. We'll see, though. Either way, I liked how he looked better._

_The last thing is that Leliana is slightly OOC here, and not canon in the barfight, killing the man instead of entreating Solona to save them. But the scene wrote itself, and it just _fit_ with the sort of more dangerous, agile, self-assured woman I was trying to portray. So I think I'll go ahead and stick with it._

_I think that's it. I hope you enjoyed it!_


	4. Chapter 3 - Assassins

_A/N: So, there will be a bit of a delay after this chapter. I got far enough ahead that it became clear that I was leaving some things out. I was eager to jump forward, to the action, but it was pointed out to me that I was talking about relationships between my characters that I hadn't really done anything to show yet. So. I have to go back and write some things, make sure everything agrees. Then I'll be back to posting._

_Also. DiaboKades is awesome. Didn't wanna forget that._

* * *

Chapter 3

**Assassins**

Solona circled the witch, their pace matched step for step, their eyes not leaving each other.

Some time earlier, she had approached the witch, asking for her help.

"_Morrigan, I wish to learn to battle a mage."_

_Morrigan's eyebrows lifted. "Why are you telling **me**?"_

_Solona rolled her eyes. "Because you are a mage, Morrigan. I have watched you. You are far better than I. Your power is more accessible. We were taught in the Circle to be cautious with power use, that to drain ourselves and need too much lyrium would invite demonic possession."_

_Morrigan scoffed. "'Tis a ridiculous notion! As long as you have the lyrium available, there is no reason not to use the energy you have if you need it."_

_Solona sighed, heaving herself down on the log next to the witch. "I know it's a load of bullshit. But that doesn't mean I can suddenly teach myself. I did fine at Ostagar with Alistair, but I would have done better had I been able to act more instantaneously. Our need of your mother's rescue might have been avoided had I been better."_

_Morrigan watched her in silence for a moment before speaking. "I think I know what it is. You were essentially taught to doubt your own instincts." Morrigan was silent a moment more, seeming to regard Solona critically before abruptly standing. "Yes, all right. I will teach you. But I will not coddle you. You **will** be going to sleep sore at night, at least until you are able to defend yourself."_

And now they were here. Solona did not know how to predict Morrigan's movements, nor was she able to cast spells as quickly. She suspected that Morrigan was right – she would indeed be going to bed very sore.

And twenty minutes later, her suspicions were confirmed. She hit the ground again, having broken the hold of the witch's hex – the casting of a nightmare into her mind – after a seeming eternity of maddening, flashing images. She tried to get up off the ground, but her arms felt like they were made of jelly.

"Perhaps you should stop for the night, Morrigan. I fear our Warden will have to make the trip tomorrow in the cart should you continue." Leliana's voice lilted to her, and she groaned internally. She had not even noticed that she had an audience for her thrashing.

"Very well," Morrigan's crisp tone sounded. "You are not weak, Solona, I am surprised to say. In fact you are quite strong. You simply spend too much time preparing yourself. It is as I suspected: you need to learn to act upon your instincts. They serve you well, but you hesitate at every moment – even when trying to block an attack. You think far too long before beginning your incantations."

Solona looked up from the ground, smiling ruefully. "Whereas you barely incant at all."

"'Tis nothing more than discipline. You do not lack that. But you are far too deliberate for battle. 'Tis akin to a warrior pulling a series of steps in one fluid motion, instead of twenty separate ones." She came close, squatting upon the ground in front of the Warden. "And given the physical presence you command, 'twould not hurt to learn more with your blades. If you find yourself facing an emissary tomorrow, you would do well to have a surprise up your sleeve. Mages do not typically expect other mages to wield any physical weapon aside from their staff. And an emissary would tear you apart at the moment."

Morrigan then got up and walked off, leaving Solona lying on the ground. She rolled herself onto her back just in time to see Leliana and Alistair move over her.

"That was quite a display. I had no idea," Alistair said, his tone almost conversational. "I've never actually _seen_ mages battle like that before."

"I fear you did not today, either. Morrigan just handed me my own ass twenty times or so."

Leliana giggled. "Yes, she did. But it was also quite impressive. The sheer amount of punishment you took, if nothing else." She smirked, bending over to hold her hand out for the Warden. "Now come, I imagine you will want to sleep the night through after the quite thorough thrashing you just took."

As she pulled the Warden to her feet, Alistair made an offer she couldn't refuse. "How about you take the last watch? You'll get the most uninterrupted sleep, and you can go to bed right away."

"I can't say no to that." She let go of the minstrel as Alistair walked off to prepare himself for his own watch. When she went to take a step, however, she faltered, she was so weary. Leliana caught her, wending an arm around her waist and pulling Solona's arm over her shoulder. Solona's heart fluttered, but she managed to smile weakly down at her. "Thank you. I'm afraid I am not used to taking a beating like that."

As she caught Leliana's gaze, time seemed to slow down. The redhead's eyes were an impossible shade of blue. In the dark, her dilated pupils were pools of black within a deep pool of blue, reminding Solona instantly of the color gradient in a deep pool of water. An image burst into her mind, aided by the feel of the woman's body pressed so close, of Leliana completely naked underneath her. She wondered what the woman's skin would look like under the soft glow of a fire, perhaps with red satin sheets. The thought made her heart skip a beat.

Time sped back up as they began to move toward their tent, Leliana looking away with a slight blush to her skin, a small smile dancing over her lips. One of the things they'd taken from the bandits had been this tent, which slept four people. The only people using it at the moment were Solona and Leliana, as Morrigan preferred sleeping under the stars and away from the others, and the boys agreed that the women should have it to themselves. Leliana had at one point playfully remarked that it seemed Max considered himself one of the ladies, as the dog had insisted upon sleeping between their two bedrolls.

There was a hint of… something in the Orlesian's voice as she opened the tent and deposited the mage inside. "Think nothing of it. Now, sleep. I will be in after I have had a chance to wash."

Solona nodded, getting to her bedroll on her own power before collapsing, quickly falling asleep without bothering to remove even her boots. Dreams of creamy white skin on her own, and reddish tresses tickling her face, kept her company the entire night.

* * *

Solona awoke to the sunrise. She stretched, smiling at feeling well rested for the first time since leaving the Tower with Duncan more than a month before. Her smile faltered when she remembered that she was supposed to be on watch. She hurriedly tugged on her boots, wondering how they'd made it off her feet in the first place, and practically ran from the tent.

Leliana's gaze moved to the mage almost the moment Solona burst forth, gracing her with a warm smile. She sat leaning against Max, one leg in the air, crossed over the other knee, her hands tucked under her arms. She'd acquired some sturdy leather armor for herself from a travelling merchant the day before, and looked the part of the dangerous huntress in it. She wasn't wearing it at the moment, however. She and Alistair chose not to don their armor just for the watch – they could defend themselves well enough, and wearing armor while sitting around was less than comfortable. Sten didn't even have any armor yet – his size and unique shape made armoring him somewhat of a challenge thus far.

Solona walked right up to her, crossing her arms under her breasts and quirking an eyebrow. "Lost track of time?"

Leliana laughed, a sweet, genuine sound that Solona would take over sweets if the choice were ever forced upon her. "I chose to stay out here and watch the sun rise. Besides," she added with a wink, "_someone_ refused to wake when I went to rouse her."

Solona groaned. "I'm sorry. I-"

Leliana held up a hand to stop her. "It is quite alright. I enjoyed the sunrise. And Max came to keep me company when you would not wake last night. So no harm done." She reached up her hand, and Solona took it, pulling a little too hard and overbalancing the Orlesian.

This shot Leliana straight into her arms.

Leliana looked up through pale auburn lashes as she leaned into Solona, her blue eyes now much paler than they were the night before. Once again, Solona found herself at a loss for words, simply staring into those eyes as she held fast around Leliana's middle. The feel of the woman's body against her own made her knees weak. The way she had to look up at the mage made her feel unreasonably protective, given that Leliana could clearly take care of herself. The look in her eyes made Solona feel… well, like dragging the redhead back into the tent and stripping all her clothes off.

After a moment, she was able to get a handle on the strange emotions surging through her, setting Leliana on her feet, taking a step back, and clearing her throat.

"Sorry. I suppose I don't know my own strength."

Leliana smiled, placing one hand on Solona's forearm. "I do not mind. Sometimes it is good to surprise yourself and others with your strength, yes? What people do not expect can be their undoing, _non_?"

Solona nodded. "Perhaps. But do not get me off-topic. I was apologizing for you taking my entire watch."

"As I said, there is nothing to apologize for." She removed her hand and turned to pick up her bow, which had been strung and seated beside her. "I did not mind in the least."

Solona sighed. "Very well. But at least let me make you breakfast. It's the least I can do. And unlike Alistair, _I_ can cook."

Leliana smiled. "That sounds wonderful."

* * *

An hour later, they were packing up the last of their belongings while Alistair hitched up the donkey. They set out at a brisk pace, hoping to cover quite a bit of ground before they stopped for their midday meal.

It was several hour's into their walk when Sten suddenly made an appearance. Over the last few days, he had taken up position at the front, moving away briskly if someone tried to engage him in conversation. But now he sought it out, making a statement that left Solona and Leliana – who had been walking together, idly chatting from time to time – blinking in confusion.

"I don't understand. You look like women."

Solona recovered first. "I'm not sure I follow. What's not to understand?"

He directed his next statement to her alone. "You are a Grey Warden, so it follows that you _can't_ be a woman."

Leliana answered him this time. "That doesn't make any sense, Sten." She traded a look of utter bafflement with Solona.

"So you understand my confusion, then."

"Not precisely, no. What are you confused about?"

"Yes," Solona joined in, "what _exactly_ is it that you find so hard to understand?"

"Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. They don't fight." His expression remained unchanged from the one he always wore, but his hands moved in a way to augment his gravelly tone.

Leliana's brow furrowed. "That's not a universal truth. Some women fight."

"Why would women ever wish to be men? That makes no sense."

Solona shared another look with Leliana, rolling her eyes slightly. It was as she suspected when he started his line of questioning – his definitions of men and women were even more rigid in his culture than her own. "They don't wish to be men, Sten. They wish to be women who fight."

"Do they also wish to live on the moon? It is as attainable."

Leliana tried valiantly not to laugh, but a snort did escape before she excused herself, falling behind to cough and laugh. Solona just shook her head, an amused smile on her face. "We're talking in circles, here."

He considered her. "I don't know what to make of you. Perhaps this is a quality of Grey Wardens I had not heard about. A person is born, qunari or human, elven or dwarf. He doesn't choose that. The size of his hands, whether he is clever or foolish, the land he comes from, the color of his hair; these are beyond his control. We do not choose, we simply _are_."

She pondered his words a moment. "It's true, we do not choose these things. But we _can_ choose what we do."

"Can we?" He made a low rumble in his throat. "We shall see." And without a word he moved away, retaking his indomitable position at the front of the party, Max mysteriously at his side. Solona just stared, flabbergasted, until Leliana rejoined her.

"Well, _that_ was enlightening. I'm not sure I've heard him speak so much since, well… _ever_."

Solona snorted. "Yes, he certainly was talkative, wasn't he?" For some reason that neither could identify, Leliana started laughing, which prompted Solona to start, and within a few seconds, they had to stop moving, they were laughing so hard.

"I will never understand women's need for gossip," Morrigan commented, passing them by with a sneer, leaving only Alistair behind them with the cart.

This caused them to laugh all the harder, having to run to catch up with the group several minutes later.

* * *

"I have been thinking about Morrigan's recommendations," Leliana said out of the blue. They were seated around the campfire, eating the much-better meal Leliana had made for them.

Solona looked up from where she was attempting to eat her food with some semblance of manners. Ever since becoming a Grey Warden, it was like the food dissipated before it even hit the bottom of her stomach. "What recommendations?"

"About non-magical combat. You should learn hand-to-hand combat."

Solona raised her brows. "Oh?"

"Yes. You and Alistair both, in fact." Alistair looked up at the mention of his name, his eyebrows also trying to meet with his hairline. "I have seen you spar with Sten, Alistair. You do well enough, but you would do better if you could get closer to your opponent."

"It is true," Sten rumbled. "The larger your opponent, the less likely you are to overpower him. In that case, your strategy should be to get inside of his reach and incapacitate him."

"What do you mean, like, hit him in the head with my pommel," Alistair suggested.

Leliana shook her head. "No. I am talking about…" She tilted her head and regarded the Qunari. "Sten, would you mind helping me to show them?"

He regarded her, standing after a moment. "Yes. I will make sure not to cause permanent damage."

Leliana smirked as she, too, stood. "I am not worried. Your level of control is almost scary, my large friend."

"Wait," Solona said, eyes wide as she realized what they were going to do. "Surely you're not going to spar with a _Qunari_? His greatsword would take care of your daggers in a heartbeat!"

"No, we will not be using weapons," Leliana clarified, moving to a clear space on the other side of the fire, Sten following her. "And it is only to demonstrate."

Solona was unconvinced, but the minstrel's display at the tavern in Lothering made her hold her tongue. She watched as the giant Qunari warrior and the tiny-in-comparison human woman squared off, both offering a slight bow to the other before dropping into a combat stance.

Sten lunged, grabbing Leliana by each shoulder. Solona and Alistair both stood in surprise, a cry of alarm ready to leave Solona's lips. But instead, it was a sound of surprise, as Leliana simply slipped from the giant's grasp, falling straight down through his hands and rolling on the ground, popping up with only a few hairs out of place. As Sten turned, she stepped in very close, sweeping a foot behind his background foot as she placed both hands on his muscled chest. As the foot came back toward her, stumbling the giant, she threw herself forward, overbalancing the warrior and knocking him on his back. She followed through with her momentum and was on top of his chest in a heartbeat, a thin, elegantly curved dagger appearing at his throat from thin air.

She wasn't even winded as she smiled, a glint in her eye. "You see? You do not need to overpower your opponent. Overbalancing them and taking advantage of their distraction can save you." She got up off of the warrior, the dagger vanishing into a sheath hidden in her gauntlet. She held out a hand to help the Qunari to his feet, but he just grunted, getting up on his own power. She shrugged and turned to her audience.

"So, you see now what I mean?"

Solona nodded slowly. "That was… incredible. You could have killed him, and not even been winded."

Alistair laughed. "How do you feel, being bested by a _girl_, Sten?"

Sten grunted, his eyes narrowing at Alistair. "She fights well, and intelligently. But I still do not understand how she is a woman and a warrior…" He moved off, calling Max to him with a whistle as he stomped off into the woods, for what purpose none of them would ever know. Solona couldn't figure out why Sten seemed to prefer Max's company.

"Come," Leliana said, gaining the Wardens' attention once more. "Come fight me."

They looked at each other, identical expressions of uncertainty on their face.

Alistair spoke first. "Which one of us?"

Leliana smirked. "_Both_ of you."

"Both of us? Isn't that a little… unfair?"

Leliana rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest and cocking a hip. "I just took down Sten, Alistair. Now, come. I do not mind teaching you both. Simultaneously." She went back into her combat stance. "_Maintenant. Venez._"

Ten minutes later, Solona could feel a collection of bruises forming all down her back and on her rump. Given the number of times Alistair had met the ground, he was probably in about the same shape. She looked over at him, both of them reluctant to get up again, just to be delivered back to the ground.

"What do you say we just get her drunk? Make it'd be a fairer fight for us?"

Leliana giggled. "I assure you I can fight almost as well while inebriated as I can while sober." She stooped, offering Alistair her hand. He eyed her warily – she had grabbed his hand only to throw him back onto the ground only a few minutes before.

"No thanks, I'll just get up when you're not so close to me," he said, making no move to take the offered hand.

Leliana giggled again. "Suit yourself. Solona?" She turned, offering her hand to the mage.

Solona cocked a brow, reaching for her, knowing she was taking a risk. As she felt Leliana begin to pull her up, she pulled back, overbalancing the smaller woman, pulling her down. She landed atop the mage, catching herself on Solona's chest. Solona caught each of Leliana's wrists and twisted, ending up with Leliana beneath her, her wrists pinned above her head.

"Ha," she shouted, looking down into Leliana's face with a triumphant smirk. "I caught you!"

Leliana's look could only be called demure. "Indeed, you have, my Warden." She fluttered her lashes coyly, causing Solona's gut to clench. She hurriedly let go of Leliana's wrists, ready to mumble an apology, when the world turned upside down. Leliana, having wrapped her legs around Solona's waist, flipped them once more. Solona found the same dagger as before appear at her own throat, effectively taking her attention away from the feel of Leliana straddling her hips.

"As you can see, there are many tricks beyond getting physically close to trick your larger opponent into dropping their guard." The Orlesian smirked, sheathing her dagger and sitting back, still straddling the mage's hips.

Solona raised a brow, still very aware of Leliana's heat pressed so close to her. "Are you calling me fat?"

Leliana blinked for a moment, then threw her head back to laugh. Her laugh was cut off in a scream of surprise as Alistair, who had regained his feet, snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the middle, hauling her off of Solona with a triumphant yell similar to Solona's earlier one.

"Alistair, put me down!" She kicked backward, hitting his shin. He cried out in pain, loosening his hold enough for her to twist out of his grip, sweeping her foot behind his feet and sending him to the ground, all in one fluid motion.

"One day, you two will be able to gang up on me. Until then, you can get _yourselves_ up off the ground."

Alistair groaned as she walked away. Solona, entranced by the sway of the minstrel's hips, didn't notice Alistair wriggle closer on the ground.

"When did such a little person learn how to pack such a wallop? And how did a _minstrel_ learn to fight like that?"

Solona turned to look at him, a smirk on her face. "She doesn't pack a wallop. You're just a big baby."

"Oh, ha ha, funny. You're lucky I'm so covered in bruises, or I would come over there and… and…"

Solona snorted, heaving herself from the ground and heading for the fire once more, Alistair's voice trailing after her.

"Oh, don't mind me. I think I'll just sleep _here_ tonight. It'll be easier, in the long run…"

* * *

The ambush came three days later.

Solona was walking at the head of the group with Morrigan, talking about some of the things she had done wrong the night before during their magical sparring session. They stopped when they saw a woman running toward them some distance off. When the woman saw them, she began screaming and waving her arms. The two mages traded a look, Morrigan rolling her eyes as Solona started walking once more to meet the hysterical woman.

"Please, please, my cart is stuck, and I can't fix it myself! My child is sick, and it's just the two of us. We've been stranded for days, and we're running out of food!" As Solona drew near, the woman stumbled, Solona catching her before she could fall to the ground.

"Calm down, it's going to be fine. You go back to him and tell him help is on the way. We just need to wait for the rest of our companions." The woman nodded, wearing a hopeful expression as she turned to shuffle back the way she'd come.

"You actually intend to help this woman?"

"Please, Morrigan, have a little compassion. If she's telling the truth, we can spare the time. If she's lying, which I suspect, then we'll take care of it."

"If she is lying, then why not avoid the trap in the first place?"

"There's nowhere else to go. We're in a damn ravine, Morrigan. We could backtrack and go around, and spend an extra week walking along the rocks with the wagon. Or we could just see what this is. I'm confident in this group's abilities."

Morrigan considered her for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Very well. You are the leader of this venture, after all." There was only a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

A minute or two later, the rest of the party caught up to them. "What's going on?" Alistair walked up with concern in his eyes. She'd never had a chance to apologize for snapping at him, but their sparring sessions seemed to be doing a lot to get them on friendlier terms.

"A woman with a downed cart ahead. I told her we'd be along shortly to help."

"Oh, dear," lamented Leliana, eyes immediately turning down in concern. "What are we waiting for?"

"Something rubs me the wrong way," Solona replied, moving to lean against the cart now that it was close. "She said that she's been stranded for days with a sick child, but she came running around the bend as if something just happened. I don't want to abandon them if they really _are_ in trouble, and I also don't want to find a way around this band of hills. They blasted this road through for a reason – it's almost impossible otherwise."

Sten's rumbling voice answered her. "If she is lying, we will just kill her."

"It's not that simple, Sten," Leliana replied calmly, like explaining something patiently to a child. "Bandits often prey on people like her, out alone travelling. They hold her children captive and force her to hail passing parties so they can ambush. And if she _is_ telling the truth, then we cannot simply stand by and let them perish."

"Well, I think the best we can do is leave the cart back here and be on our guard," Alistair said, loosening his sword in it's scabbard and rummaging his helm from the cart. It was starting to get too warm to wear it all the time.

When they rounded the corner, her gut feeling of _wrong_ just got worse. The wagon was there, missing a wheel, the woman seemingly talking to someone inside the covered portion. There was nothing there to suggest that she'd been lying, and yet you simply did not come running at such a convenient time when you've been stranded for days. It did not add up.

She took one more step forward, and it was one step too many. She felt something pull at her ankle, and then the world was fire.

Time stopped for a moment, an eternity stretching out as she fell forward. At the same time that she could feel her skin crisping, she found an escape from the pain. Seeing the path before her, she fled, finding at the bottom a wellspring of power. She reached out to take it, and in that moment, time sped back up.

She stood, feeling the power coursing through her, healing the paltry wounds she had sustained. Taking in the scene before her, she narrowed in on her enemies, her vision tunneling to the scene of the battle. With a speed she never would have known she possessed, she sprinted to where the fighting was thickest. Drawing on the well of power she had found, Solona pushed a wall of force in a circle around her, felling eight grown men. As they began to right themselves, she drew her staff and used it to focus the power coursing through her, directing a ball of fire at the chest of the first man to gain his feet.

He burned to a crisp within the span of five seconds.

She barely spared him a glance before she was moving again, jerking Alistair to his feet after jutting a man in the forehead with the butt of her staff, caving in his skull. Alistair gaped for a moment before pulling himself together, pulling his shortbow to help Leliana deal with the archers above them. Solona pushed away from him with a grin, looking for her next foe, ready to do more damage.

When she turned, she was suddenly faced with a dangerous opponent, a blonde elf with a facial tattoo similar to her own. She squared off with him, their steps mirroring each other's, much as she and Morrigan. Solona studied him as she paced, sizing him up as he did likewise. He had a long, elegantly curved dirk in each hand, leather armor of expensive make, and boots that were worth more than all the clothes on her own body. His smirk made her curious, but she did not have a chance to ask him about his attitude. She could only react, leaping to her right as he suddenly lashed out with one of the long daggers.

The power coursing through her would not wait, was not cautious. She thrust forward a fist as he recovered, and he was knocked to the ground from the invisible force she'd sent his way. He rolled with the motion, springing up to his feet not even a second after hitting the ground. Solona narrowed her eyes, bringing up her staff and slamming it into the ground. A shockwave left it, travelling along the ground and knocking him down once more. And once more he rolled, this time backward, skipping back a few steps to put some distance between them once he had regained his feet. Settling back into a battle stance, he smiled and bowed with a flourish.

Solona found herself smiling right back, eager for the fight.

In the blink of an eye, he had flipped one of his dirks and sent it spinning in her direction. Without thinking, she caught it, not able to spare the time to wonder at how she'd done it. Instead, she tossed it back at him, using it as a conduit for the well of power she'd called upon when the trap had been sprung. It hit him faster than it should have, in the shoulder, slicing through his armor as if it were butter. Blasts of heat and flame emanated from it, sending him to the ground with grunts and gasps of pain. He managed to grip the blade and remove it, but lost consciousness and dropped the blade as soon as he had done so.

As he lost consciousness, Solona looked for the next enemy, but there were none. Along with the realization, she felt the well begin to close off, her vision expanding as the source of her power narrowed, pushing her back along the path down which she had initially fled, away from that well of magic. She watched as Sten thrust his sword into the last bandit standing, saw Leliana speaking with Alistair up on the ledge where the archers had been, and observed with some detachment as Morrigan wiped some blood from her lip. Max trotted up to her, his muzzle dripping blood as he happily barked. They had won, with no injuries. She smiled and bent to pet the happy dog.

Before she could touch him, however, she swayed sideways, and then the world went black.

* * *

She awoke slowly, awareness coming in increments. First, she noted that what she was sensing had a great deal more reality to it than before. _I must have been dreaming. When did I fall asleep?_

Then, she noted that her clothes had been stripped. _Okay, I definitely don't remember doing that…_

And then her memories came to her, like curtains being peeled back from a window. The ambush, the trap she'd triggered, the impressive fighting she'd done and the strange way her awareness had become distorted. The elven assassin who would have skewered her had it not been for her _catching a blade in midair_. She didn't know how she'd done it, nor how she'd somehow set the blade on fire before sending it back at him at impossible speeds. She remembered doing it, though, remembered the rush of the magic, the satisfaction of the blade sinking into the assassin's flesh. And how, when the source of that magic closed off, her energy had left her, and the world had faded to black.

She finally opened her eyes. She was in the tent she shared with Leliana. It was dark out, but she could see the light cast by the fire on the walls of the canvas. She lifted the blanket an inch or two to find that she was, indeed, naked except for her smallclothes, even her breasts allowed freedom. She replaced the blanket, looking around to find the tent empty. Reasonably assured of some privacy, she got out from under the blanket to look for some clothes.

She really didn't know what to think of what had happened. Her display of power resembled descriptions of blood magic, or maybe possession by a demon. But she was herself, and she retained her memory of what happened while drawing on that incredible well of power. She had no memory of battling with a demon during the battle, and she knew what it was to battle one, at least in the Fade. In addition, she was sure she'd know if she had drawn power from either her own blood or someone else's. So what the hell had happened?

And, for that matter, how long ago had it happened? How long had she been out? She was ravenous, but that wasn't much to go on – it seemed like she was ravenous all the time. It could have been just half a day, or it could have been more. Maybe she'd been stripped because she had soiled herself in her unconsciousness? No, then they would have stripped her down completely. Speaking of which, in addition to being ravenous, she desperately needed to make a trip into the woods to relieve herself. _Okay, so it's probably only been the afternoon, if you're still holding it. That's not so bad_.

Dressing in cotton trousers and a loose shirt, Solona rushed out of the tent without even pulling on her boots. She barely noticed Leliana at the fire, alone except for Max, sitting up and exclaiming in surprise when Solona suddenly appeared. She ran passed the redhead for the privacy of the woods, tossing off a "just a minute" as she made for the tree line. When she came back, Leliana was standing, a look of concern on her face.

"Are you all right?"

Solona smiled. "Yes, but I'm starving. Is there anything left to eat?"

Leliana looked dubious. "I'm not sure you should eat Alistair's cooking so soon after emptying your stomach…"

"Oh! No, my stomach is fine. I just had to, well, use the latrine."

"Oh. Well." Leliana appeared flustered. She cast about, looking everywhere but at Solona. She wasn't sure what to make of it, but was spared having to make awkward conversation when Leliana began rummaging through their supplies, producing a wineskin, loaf of hard bread, and a bit of hard cheese. "I can make you something else if you like, but this is what's available _maintenant_."

Solona's lips quirked up at Leliana's brief use of her mother tongue. She was only familiar with it in its written form, and to hear it not being butchered by those studying it in the Tower was refreshing. "This is fine, Leliana, thank you." She took the offered items with a smile and sat down on the ground next to Max, feeding him a small piece of the hard bread before patting his head. His pleased grunt made her chuckle.

As she ate, she could feel Leliana's gaze on her. She tried to slow down, as she was eating pretty much like the dog did, but she was so damn hungry. The Orlesian could judge if she wanted – at the moment, Solona didn't care overly much.

It was another minute or two before Leliana finally spoke up. "You scared us today."

Solona looked up at her, taking a drink of wine to replace a reply. How was she supposed to respond to that?

"Alistair is worried. Morrigan says she's never seen anything like what you did." Leliana's brow furrowed further. "Sten was convinced you had a demon inside of you, and tried to kill you."

Solona just blinked. "He tried to _kill_ me?" Leliana nodded, the concerned look remaining on her face. "Well. I'm glad to see you didn't let him."

"It is no laughing matter, Solona." Leliana's tone had turned slightly angry, almost hurt. "No one knew what you had done. And you lost consciousness immediately after the fight." Her voice got very quiet. "I thought I- we had lost you."

Leliana seemed very upset. More than she should be, at least as far as Solona could judge such things. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Leliana. I'm not quite sure what happened, myself. It was very different from usual."

"How so?"

"I don't really know how to explain it. It was like…" _Sex. Maybe._ "It was like an endless source of power just opened up to me. That's not what my magic is usually like."

"I see. Well, I am perhaps not the best person to discuss it with." Leliana shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Morrigan has the next watch. Perhaps we should wait until she is here? I'm sure her input would be more useful than my own." She was still speaking very quietly.

"Perhaps. But let's not wake her yet." Solona looked down at her food, her voice dropping in pitch and volume. "I enjoy your company far more than hers."

"That's sweet," Leliana replied, her voice gaining a bit more of its usual buoyancy. Solona looked back up to see her smiling in a very odd way, a look on her face the mage couldn't quite place.

"So… did I miss anything? Besides being undressed. What was that about, anyway?"

Leliana colored slightly. "You healed your body after you were burned, but most of the clothing you wore was burned beyond repair. The only things that were still wearable were your vest and boots. It… seemed silly to put you to bed in just your vest, so I took the liberty of removing that and washing it for you. I… apologize, if this was too much an intrusion into your privacy. I did not think you would appreciate anyone else who might have wished the chore to perform it."

Solona snorted. "That's for damn sure." She smiled at Leliana. "Thank you. You're right, I wouldn't appreciate Alistair or Sten undressing me. Or Morrigan, for that matter." The thought of Leliana handling her while in such a state of undress made her skin flush very hot. It also made her wonder just how strong the woman was. Solona was much bigger than Leliana, who looked almost delicate despite her wicked skill with a longbow – how on earth did she manage to manipulate someone so much larger than herself?

"You do not mind that I took such liberty with you?" Leliana's words were serious, but her tone was almost playful, and when Solona looked back in her direction, she saw that Leliana had a smirk on her face.

Solona grinned. "I think I will survive, fair Lady." She winked and added, "I might just have to swoon more often, if that is the treatment I receive every time."

She was gratified to see Leliana blush furiously. It also confused her. Leliana seemed like the kind of woman who was used to romantic interest – you couldn't be _that_ beautiful and not have to beat men off with a stick. Perhaps it was just that Solona was another woman? Or perhaps she was just horribly obvious in her flirtations, and Leliana wasn't sure how to let the mage down gently? Solona silently cursed her lack of experience.

Leliana relieved the awkwardness by retrieving another wineskin, moving to sit on the ground next to Solona, leaning back against the same log. She took a delicate sip before offering it to the mage, who accepted the offer. The one she'd gotten with her meal had only had a little bit, and so she had completely drained it before all of her food was consumed. A pleasant warm feeling was settling in her body, her head swimming just slightly.

"So, did I miss anything else?"

Leliana smiled wryly. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Your assassin survived, and we decided to let him travel with us."

"You what?!"

Leliana chuckled. "Yes. He was an Antivan Crow, hired by Loghain, I might add. As he failed to kill you and Alistair, his life is forfeit should he ever show his face in his country again. As an Antivan, even as an assassin, he has a high degree of honor, and has pledged his service to you and Alistair until such time as we deem it no longer necessary."

"And Alistair _accepted_?"

Leliana nodded. "He has no weapons until such time as we decide he can be trusted, and he is still quite impeded by the injuries you gave him. He has already proven himself somewhat by helping me to take care of you while you were out."

"Huh."

"Yes, it was odd. He then took over care of the cart and donkey without being prompted, and collected firewood – as best he could with one arm in a sling – and took the first watch once we found a good place to rest for the rest of the day. So I am inclined to believe his story that he was unhappy as an assassin, and wishes a different life. It certainly matches what I know of the Crows."

"Odd." Solona shrugged, feeling that her drink was showing but not particularly caring. "I suppose if we're careful, there's no reason to kill him." She smiled ruefully. "I mean, at this point, Morrigan and Sten have both tried to kill me. And had things gone differently, and Alistair become a Templar, then he would have, as well. It's not like this assassin is any worse than the rest of our companions."

Leliana actually laughed. "You have a point!" Her brows knit, a look that Solona found terribly adorable. "And he is very… interesting to speak with. Utterly incorrigible when it comes to potential bed partners, though. At my last count, he had propositioned me, Morrigan, _and_ Alistair an even five times, and we've only known him half a day!"

Solona's eyes got wide. He had propositioned _Alistair_? "I bet our fair Templar took _that_ well…"

"Indeed," Leliana said sagely, "if blushing and stammering before walking away counts as 'well.'"

They both laughed at this, falling into an easy rhythm of conversation afterward.

While they spoke, she kept sneaking furtive looks at Leliana, appreciating the way the firelight landed upon her face. She was feeling a bit cold in the spring night air, but was loathe to interrupt the ease that had settled over them. So she stayed up, and the two finished the watch together, losing track of time, talking until the sunrise told them that they had stayed too long, having failed to awake Morrigan. Neither seemed to care overly much, however, and they rose to wake their party only reluctantly, not eager to leave the other's company.


	5. Chapter 4 - The Road to Lake Calenhad

_Author's Note: Not much to say. Let me know how this works for you, how you like the relationship development between everyone._

* * *

Chapter 4

**The Road To Lake Calenhad**

"There is no reason you should not be able to access this power at will."

Solona rolled her eyes and said, for what felt like the hundredth time, "And yet, I cannot."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "What was it, exactly, that opened this 'path,' as you called it?"

Solona sighed. "I don't know. I hit that trap, and I felt my skin burning, and then there was the power. It healed me as it flowed through me, and it enabled me to cast spells without words. It completely got rid of the need to incant."

"There is _always_ the need to incant. Incanting is the _only_ way to focus raw magic, to refine it; unless, of course, you are using blood magic, or a spirit is using your body as a vessel."

Solona shook her head. "No, that is not what this was. It was like the power was responding directly to my wishes. I never understood it quite like this before, but incanting is… an intermediary, a catalyst to make bending the power to our will easier."

"And you are saying that you were able to bend the magic to your will without directing it with words?"

Solona nodded emphatically. "Yes. That is exactly what happened. I would have always said you were right, about focusing the raw magic. But it simply responded to my wishes directly. There was no need to focus or refine it."

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, falling silent as she walked beside the mage Warden. Solona gave her a sidelong glance, wondering what was churning around behind those yellow, cat-like eyes.

Finally, Morrigan spoke again. "So you were able to direct the magic with your mind. Were you incanting silently?"

Solona shook her head emphatically. "No. I was looking back on it last night, and it wasn't even that. I pictured what I wanted to happen, and I could direct the power to do it. There was no step of deciding _how_ to make the magic do what I wanted."

"That is…" Morrigan's eyes narrowed again. "Actually, I may have heard of something like this. My mother, in one of her many lessons, spoke of the Tevinter mages receiving blood magic from demons in _reaction_ to more powerful mages' magic."

A flash of recognition came to Solona. "I think I may have read about something about that. But it is…" She thought for a moment, finally making a sound of frustration when the memories just wouldn't come to her. "It is out of reach. I need to think on it, see if I can remember what it was I read. It was something about battle magic, before the Chantry came to be."

"Perhaps you can get the book again when we visit the Tower? Perhaps we should go there first?"

"That's… a good idea, actually." Solona looked around for Alistair. "It would require a change of direction. I believe we're almost to Redcliffe…"

"I believe 'twould be worth the time – if it happens again, we should know something about it."

"I agree. Though I have no desire to be back at the Circle so soon."

Morrigan was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded thoughtful. "When I first met you, I assumed you were a puppet of the Circle. Mother never told me what the mark on your visage meant. I did not know you escaped, that you loathed the Circle, perhaps more than I do."

Solona snorted. "_Attempted_ escape. I was not successful in staying away."

"Yes. You sought out your parents, and they turned you in to the Templars, correct?" Solona nodded in affirmation. In response, Morrigan's eyes hardened. "They are nothing. Simple-minded fools; sheep of the Chantry. You are _better_ than they are. Go, speak to Alistair. The Circle cannot take you again – you should not fear going there."

Morrigan moved away, leaving a very quiet Solona to contemplate her words.

* * *

Solona ate her hard bread and cheese with reluctance as she walked. As much as she did not miss the Circle, she _did_ miss eating cooked meals. Leliana had emerged from the woods not long ago with three hares hanging from her belt, at least, meaning they would be having a meal of substance that night.

She sighed. She'd been in a somber mood ever since her conversation with Morrigan. She didn't know what was happening to her, and was not happy that their only way to find out involved travelling to the place that had been her only home, and her prison. Thoughts of Templars and Irving's disappointed face haunted her.

A creaking of leather shook her from her reverie. She looked around to see the assassin walking not far behind her. She hadn't had a chance to speak with him yet, taking Leliana's word that it was a good idea to have him along. It bothered her less than she thought it should, to have her would-be assassin with them. Perhaps because it was Loghain who wanted her dead, not the blonde elven man she was looking at. He had simply accepted gold, using his skills to perform a service. A service that she had halted, causing an abrupt shift in his loyalties, apparently.

But perhaps taking Leliana's word for it wasn't enough. Perhaps she should speak with him, decide for herself.

"What was your name?"

The elf's gaze shifted to her as she dropped back to walk beside him. He led the donkey and cart with one hand, the other stuck in a simple sling while the wound to his shoulder healed.

"I wondered when you would speak to me, Warden. My name is Zevran Arainai, of Antiva." The elf had an interesting lilt to his voice. As she'd never actually heard an Antivan accent before, due to her rather sheltered upbringing in the Circle, she could only assume this was it.

"I am Solona. I would say, 'pleased to meet you,' but given the nature of our first introduction…"

Zevran chuckled. "Yes, I find that I, too, am less inclined to look favorably upon a man who has tried to kill me. We differ in that regard, however, in that you never did anything to make me want to kill you, which is not true of myself and the men who have tried to kill me."

Solona was confused. "I'm not sure I follow. Who has tried to kill you?"

"Jealous husbands, usually. Sometimes angry fathers."

It took Solona a moment to understand what he was getting at, but when she did, she chuckled. He graced her with a smile and continued. "In any event, you did not ask if I was a heartbreaker. I imagine you want to know some about me? If I will try to kill you once again?"

Solona was taken aback by the way he refused to dance around the subject. "Wouldn't you?"

He nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Indeed. Well, you should know that I never felt much loyalty to the Crows. They raised me, it is true, fed me, and clothed me. In return, I killed for them. Truth to tell, Warden, I tire of killing simply because I am good at it."

Solona was quiet for a moment before responding. "That certainly _sounds_ good. But what is to stop you from feeding me that story and then stabbing me in my sleep?"

Zevran grinned, showing a perfect line of white teeth. "Nothing."

It was so brazen a response, Solona couldn't help snorting a laugh.

"In fact, _seniorita_, the Crows only ever bought my loyalty. They never earned it. My respect, they have. I respect that they will kill me because I failed to kill you. If I kill you later, they will still kill me for not succeeding in the first place."

"Okay… But what is to stop you from slitting our throats and making a bid for freedom?"

Zevran had an answer for her right away. "And spoil the opportunity to bed so many lovely, interesting people?"

Solona cocked a single brow. "You think you will be bedding me after attempting to kill me?"

"What can I say? I am an eternal optimist." He flashed another confident grin, adjusting the grip of the donkey's rope in his hand. "In truth, Warden, I know enough to know that there is nothing I can say to convince you of my motives. I can show you, earn your trust. I can serve you in whatever manner you need. I was raised by the Crows and know nothing else. I would like to know what life outside of that web of lies and deceit is like."

"I suppose I can see that. So start showing me. Tell me something about yourself. Your past. How did you join the Crows?"

Zevran smiled. "I was purchased from a whorehouse in Antiva for the very good price of three golden sovereigns."

"So precise a number! And how much were you paid to kill me?"

"_I_ was not paid anything. The Crows were paid, and I performed – or didn't, in this case – the service. I would not have seen anything more than usual for this job."

"I see. So, a whorehouse…"

Zevran nodded. "Yes. My mother was stuck with my father's debt after he died, and having no other skills for the city, she was forced to prostitution. She died giving birth to me, and I, like many other children, was raised by a community of prostitutes."

"I… am sorry."

Zevran shrugged. "I did not know her. I doubt my father was truly even my father. Far more likely is that I was fathered by an elven lover she took while married to her husband. I know that I am not half-human, or I would suspect one of her clients. In any event, my childhood was good, for what it was. And when the Crows bought me, they made me strong, and skilled, and cunning. I resisted at first, but in the end, I found I had a certain talent for the things they wanted me to do. It does feel good be good at something."

Solona considered what he had said. In some ways, their childhoods were similar. Not completely, of course, but she, too, had been taken from her home and raised by a faceless organization that wanted her to use her talents in a certain way. He had a great deal more freedom in it, but she, at least, had not been raised by whores and then murderers. _Just caged powerhouses who were too scared of their own power to realize they could be free of their shackles in the space of a heartbeat._

"What about you, Warden? I confess, I have never had the chance to spend so much time with a mage, and now I find myself in the company of two. _And_ you are both beautiful examples of the female species. It is almost too good to be true!"

Solona's eyes narrowed. "You are truly mistaken if you think you can get either of us into your bed, Zevran."

"Oh? You do not even know me; how can you be so certain?"

Solona rolled her eyes. "Even had you not tried to kill me yesterday, I would still not be interested, trust me. And Morrigan… well, honestly, I am surprised she hasn't yet set your hair on fire. I would be careful around her."

His face took on a sly look. "But what about the Orlesian? She is a fine woman, if I have ever seen one."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "You should stay away from her."

She walked off without another word, completely unaware of the knowing smile on Zevran's lips.

* * *

"Are you going to let your hair grow back out?" Leliana ran her fingers through the soft, inch-and-a-half-long strands of Solona's hair.

The mage hummed in approval. "No. I don't think I will. I was never particularly fond of my hair when it was long, and I've really enjoyed the convenience of it short." She opened her eyes, looking up from where she sat on the ground between Leliana's knees. "I suppose it would help hide the tattoo on my face, but given that I never even see my face anymore, it doesn't bother me. And, well… It almost feels like I'd be letting them win, like I'd be covering it up in _shame_." She closed her eyes again as Leliana's fingers drifted through her hair once more.

"I think I know what you mean. Taking ownership of sometime meant to shame you? Almost like using it against them?"

Solona hummed once more. "Yes, that sounds right. I haven't really had a reason to articulate it before…" The mage trailed off as Leliana used her nails on the woman's scalp, prompting a moan of pleasure to escape her. A shiver ran up the Orlesian's spine at the sound.

They sat together at watch, far from the fire. They had acquired enough members to their party to justify taking the watch in pairs. A paired watch was safer for two very important reasons: one, the pair stood a better chance of defending the camp in the event of an attack, and, two, the pair was able to keep each other awake. Leliana and Solona had drawn their watch together. Leliana couldn't quite remember how they got in this particular configuration, aside from the fact that she was a woman enjoyed playing with hair. Solona certainly wasn't complaining, though, and she was having a hard time making herself stop the innocent enough gesture, even if it _felt_ overly familiar and flirtatious.

She looked down, playing further with the mage's hair. "Well, you'll need to get it cut on a regular basis then, yes? Walking around with a shaggy mane of hair is far from stylish. I could do it for you, if you like."

"You can cut hair?"

"Yes. It is a skill I acquired when I was young – Lady Cecilie only liked people she _knew_ touching her so intimately, you see. So she had me taught."

"That was the noblewoman who raised you?"

"Yes, she is the woman my mother served."

"Wait, why were you a minstrel if you were the ward of a noble?"

_Merde. Think fast, Leliana._ She settled on a variation of the truth. "I sought a more exciting life. The life of a noblewoman is only so interesting, you see. I travelled far more, and saw far more, as a minstrel than I ever did as a noble. Lady Cecilie passed when I was on the cusp of my adulthood, so my future was my own, with no one to condemn my choice." Flimsy at best, but it would have to do. "Anyway, would you like me to cut your hair for you?"

Solona nodded thoughtfully. "I would like that. I like the idea of it having some kind of style. 'Head shaved bald and has now grown out' isn't much of a fashion-statement, I'm afraid."

Leliana giggled. "This is true. Well, it does make a statement, but perhaps not one you want to make."

Solona pulled away a little, twisting to look at Leliana. "Maybe when we get to the lake? There's an inn that would sell the things you need. They get merchants coming through, trading with the Circle, all the time."

Leliana smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe I'll even convince Alistair to let me do something about his growth."

Solona chuckled, settling back with her shoulders between Leliana's knees. "He is looking a bit woolly, isn't he? We didn't really have a chance to grab razors when we left Ostagar."

She continued to play with Solona's hair, running both sets of fingers through it, watching as the white strands shifted around her hands. The Wardens mentioned Ostagar from time to time, but they never actually talked about it. Perhaps now was her chance to get an answer? "If you don't mind me asking, what happened at Ostagar? You and Alistair mention it often enough, but all I actually know is that the Teyrn somehow betrayed you."

Solona sighed. "I can only say what happened to Alistair and I. We don't know the details of what happened on the field."

Leliana was surprised. "You mean you weren't in the fight?"

Solona shook her head slightly. "No. Much to Alistair's chagrin, we were asked to light the signal for the reserve forces. This meant we saw very little of the actual battle. Or, at least, we weren't _supposed_ to see battle."

"I take it things didn't go as planned?"

Solona snorted. "You could say that again." She shifted, settling further against Leliana, her head now pressed against the redhead's belly. Leliana's heartbeat increased at the contact, and it brought a smile to her face, to know that the mage was so comfortable with her already. It had been a long time since she'd had a friendship like this. She tried to ignore the small voice that told her that she wanted it to be _more_ than simple friendship.

Leliana's attention was pulled back from Solona's body by her voice. "The Darkspawn had beaten us to the tower, where we were to light the beacon. Almost all the soldiers inside were dead. We had to fight our way up to the top with only a handful of soldiers – and me, who had never been in battle before."

"That must have been terrifying." Leliana couldn't imagine. So far, the only fight the group had come across was Zevran's ambush. It was different from the single-minded, relentless chasing of a target in Orlais, but she had at least felled many foes, whether or not they deserved it. She couldn't imagine being thrust into war for the first time untested like that, and with nothing more than her staff and Circle robes. Leliana would have felt almost naked without at least some armor.

"It was. I had been sent into the Wilds before the Joining ritual, but it was just a few ragged bands of Darkspawn, and there hadn't been any surprises – unless you count Morrigan and her mother, I suppose. We did fine, though. We didn't lose a single person, and we killed every single one of the bastards on our way to the top. But that's where it all fell apart."

"Some sort of nasty surprise?"

"An ogre."

"_Merde…_"

Solona nodded. "Yes, that was about all of our reactions. We did kill it, though. You should have seen it. I've never seen Alistair so angry. He jumped straight at its chest with his sword and damn near tore the thing's heart out." She paused for a moment. "Actually, it kind of made me want to puke, but I managed to keep it together. We lit the beacon and were about to leave the tower when a wave of Darkspawn rushed in. We were overpowered, and I don't remember anything until I awoke in Morrigan's hut."

"That must have been… interesting." _Like waking after a drunken tumble, not sure if you tumbled or not_.

"Made even more so by the fact that I was completely naked."

"What?"

"Well, we'd sustained some nasty injuries. They stripped Alistair and I – no one else had survived – bandaged us up, and did us the courtesy of washing our clothes. Alistair had been awake for several hours when I awoke. Naked. In Morrigan's bed, no less. It was more than a little surreal."

"I take it you hadn't met her yet?"

"Oh, no, we had. During that sojourn into the Wilds I mentioned. This was our second meeting in as many days. Still didn't make waking up naked to the sight of Morrigan any less weird. If you haven't noticed, her chosen dress is…"

Leliana smirked. "Distracting?"

"That's the polite way of saying it," Solona laughed.

"I wonder if she even realizes how indecent her attire truly is?"

"It certainly doesn't leave anything to the imagination. We can all see _exactly_ which assets she's working with. It makes sparring with her an exercise in concentration."

Leliana smacked Solona's shoulder in mock admonishment. "Shame on you, ogling her in such a way!"

"Can you blame me," Solona asked through her laughter, earning herself another smack from Leliana. As they settled, Leliana resting her hands on the mage's shoulder, Solona continued. "Anyway, she told us that Loghain had betrayed us all, quitting the field at the signal instead of flanking the Darkspawn. I still can't figure _why_, though."

"The game of politics is often difficult to understand."

"I've spent my _life_ in politics. I don't think that Loghain is doing politics, at least not the petty type."

Leliana furrowed her brow. "How have you spent your life in politics?"

"Well, I realize it's not the same as state-level politics, but what else do you think a bunch of scholars get up to in their free time? We machinate our internal politics. There were so many little factions to navigate, it could become dizzying. And each person was a member of multiple factions, and you had to remember who was aligned with what group, or risk eternally insulting somebody. Oh, it was maddening!"

"That… actually sounds about what it's like among nobles, as well. Lady Cecilie was always trying to teach me how to be diplomatic. I feel I did well at it, though I do not miss it."

"No, it grows old and tedious. I much-prefer life out here, despite the lack of a bed."

Leliana moved from sitting behind Solona to sitting beside her, having tired of not being able to truly talk face to face with the woman. "I've noticed that you do not sleep well."

Solona sighed, toying absently with a blade of grass. "I don't but it's not because of that. Alistair hasn't told me _everything_ he knows yet, I'm certain, but part of being a Grey Warden is that we can sense the Darkspawn. This is how we know for certain that this is a Blight – something Loghain denies, I might add. We can sense the Arch Demon. I see it every night in my dreams. It… speaks to me. I cannot understand it, though Alistair says some of the older Wardens claimed to be able to understand the Darkspawn's whisperings when they drew close."

"That is… frightening. I do not look forward to when we finally _do_ begin to see advance parties of the Darkspawn. I have never before seen them, but they sound horrid."

Solona's expression was very serious as she spoke, a dramatic change from the rest of their conversation. "They are. There is no room for them in this world. They need to be driven back from whence they came." There was a ringing finality to her statement that struck Leliana as odd, coming from the normally joking, flirtatious woman sitting next to her. She shuddered, thinking of what could draw such seriousness from the Warden.

"Come on," Solona's voice roused her. "It's time to wake up Alistair and Morrigan. Which one do you want?"

"Alistair," Leliana replied, without needing to think about it. Morrigan did not even try to hide her dislike of Leliana, and she had no wish to be the one to rouse the woman for her middle watch.

Solona chuckled. "It figures you'd land me with her. She's really not _that_ bad. At least, she's calmed down from when I first met her. She only insults Alistair, now."

Leliana smirked. "Good. Then _you_ can wake her from now on."

Solona groaned, walking off to rouse the mage from her bedroll on the other side of the fire.

* * *

Leliana sat at the table in the common room, eating her evening meal. They had arrived at Lake Calenhad with the sunset, and had decided to rest the night at the inn before striking out for the Tower itself. It had been a week since her conversation with Solona about Ostagar.

Alistair was sitting next to her, chatting and scarfing down as much food as he could get his hands on. Both he and Solona ate like it was their last meal, yet neither ever seemed to gain an ounce. If anything, they'd both trimmed down even more in the two weeks since Leliana had met them, both of them all hard muscle and sinew.

She turned away from her rather lackluster meal and up at the warrior beside her. He was still looking rather scruffy. He had not had a chance to shave since Ostagar, according to Solona, and his hair had grown out, as well. She considered him for a moment.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?" His mouth was full.

Leliana rolled her eyes, a small smile crossing her lips. "I offered to cut Solona's hair for her later. I already purchased what I need from the innkeeper. If you like, I could do yours, as well? Not that the overgrown look isn't dashing on you, mind. Roguishly handsome, even."

He swallowed and smiled. "That would be great, thank you, Leliana."

Spying a bit of stew clinging stubbornly to his beard, she added, "I could also find a razor for you, if you like."

At his assent, she turned back to her much-smaller meal, unable to keep a smile of amusement from her lips.

* * *

"Sit still!"

"I'm sorry! I'm not used to this!"

Leliana made a frustrated noise and grabbed Solona's head, repositioning it once more with her face tilted forward. She took the sharpened shears to the back of her head and began cutting once more.

_3, 2, 1…_

Solona shifted in her seat again. Leliana rolled her eyes. "That's it. Alistair, can you please come _restrain_ your fellow Warden?"

Zevran chuckled from his place by the fire. He was like a constant shadow, watching and commenting on the proceedings.

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure she could melt my face off…"

Solona snorted. "You mistake me for Morrigan."

Leliana huffed indignantly. "_I_ will melt _her_ face off if she continues moving. I'm serious. Hold her head still. I only need a minute or two more."

She showed him where to hold the mage's head and set to work once more, finishing quite quickly with Solona finally sitting so still. Alistair watched her work curiously, finally saying, "You know, I've never actually seen what it looks like when you do that. I'm always the one stuck trying not to squirm in the chair."

Leliana smiled, expecting an amused reaction from Solona, as well. But the mage had gone very quiet, and very still. She wondered at it, but was too busy to divert too much attention. When she finished, she directed Solona to go bathe, advising that that was the only way to be truly rid of the small, spiky hairs down her collar that were unavoidable with short hair. The mage made a hasty exit, but Leliana was already turning to look at Alistair's hair, directing him sit down as she wetted it in preparation to be cut.

"So where did you learn to cut hair?"

"Lady Cecilie, the woman who raised me after my mother passed," Leliana replied. "Well, not _her_, per se. A servant of hers. She preferred to only have those she knew well perform such an intimate act." She ran her fingers through his hair, deciding how she wanted to cut it. It needed to be functional, but she was a firm believer that functional could not also have a flair of style.

"Cutting hair is intimate?"

Leliana smiled, working her fingers through his hair. "Indeed. You would think not, and yet…" Here, she dragged her nails across his scalp, eliciting a visible shiver down his spine.

"I, uh, see what you mean." He shifted uncomfortably. Leliana smiled to herself.

"Lady Cecilie had trust issues, to be sure. But it was something I was happy to do for her. Though yours and Solona's hair is much easier – Orlesian hairstyles can be flamboyant things, requiring far more practice than I've had recently."

They settled into a comfortable silence as she began cutting, turning his head this way and that as she worked. She caught him staring once or twice when she moved in front of him, stifling a giggle as he hurriedly looked away from her chest. She should probably discourage him, but it was just so adorable. And she couldn't help it; there was a small part of her that enjoyed the attention.

"_Voila_!" She pulled away, letting Zevran get a good look at him. "What do you think?"

The elf peered at him, smiling after a moment. "_Perfecto_. Now only half of him looks like a wild man."

"Wild man?" Alistair's tone was all mock indignation.

Leliana clicked her tongue. "Yes, your beard is still quite thick and brambly. Come here, I will trim it so you can shave." She worked quickly, holding his chin in one hand as she trimmed his beard close to his face. She didn't even notice him trying to look everywhere but at her.

When she was through, she inspected his face with a critical eye. "You know, you would look good with a partial beard, just on your chin. If you like, I can shave it for you?"

"A… partial beard? Like those frilly mustaches men in Orlais wear?" Alistair was clearly dubious, but Leliana was already moving to get the razor she had purchased for him from the innkeeper earlier.

"Nothing so fancy as that. I will show you, and if you do not like it, you can always shave the rest of it off."

Alistair sat very still while she shaved his cheeks. She didn't blame him – she _was_ holding a straight razor to his face. But she was good at what she did; you didn't get good at lock picking _or_ playing the lute if you had clumsy hands. In five minutes, she had his beard shaped, and held a mirror up for him to see as Zevran expressed his approval.

"Well? Do you like it?"

Alistair inspected himself. "Actually, you know, I think I do. I'm sure it will look even better without all the spiky hairs and remnants of lather." He smiled cheekily at her.

Leliana smirked. "Yes, yes, go bathe. I'm sure you need it."

Alistair thanked her before he left, leaving her alone with the elven assassin. She quickly cleaned up, humming softly to herself as she worked.

* * *

She found Solona standing in front of the window in their otherwise dark room. Morrigan had not yet returned from wherever she disappeared to, and something told Leliana that they would not see her again until morning. She kept her step silent, hoping to take advantage of this opportunity to see Solona when she didn't think anyone was watching.

She paused just inside the door, studying the mage with a critical eye. Something was wrong. The mage was very still, gazing out at the Tower across the lake. Her arms were crossed over her chest, one hip cocked to the side. There was something… off about her posture.

She deliberately took a heavy step, alerting Solona to her presence. The mage turned quickly to see who had entered, relaxing only a little when she saw it was the redhead. Leliana turned fully to face her and came to stand in the middle of the room. Solona turned back to the window, hunching her shoulders slightly as she wrapped her arms more tightly about herself.

"Solona?" No answer. "Solona, what's wrong?"

The mage still wouldn't answer. Leliana walked closer, placing one hand on the other woman's shoulder.

"Please, my Warden. Tell me what is wrong?"

She felt Solona sigh heavily under her hand, then the vibration of her voice as she spoke. "When I was returned to the Circle, my hair was removed by force. They held me down to do it, held me down to tattoo my face. Tonight, when you had Alistair hold me still… It was incredibly similar to that first time. I… was hoping it wouldn't affect me the way it did, but, well…"

Leliana was quiet for a moment, growing still as realization struck. "And directing Alistair to hold you so, while I cut your hair…" She removed her hand from the mage's shoulder as if she'd touched fire, horrified at what she had done. _If Solona had had a powerful man hold me down, forcibly remove my hair or clothing…_

Solona finally turned around, looking down into Leliana's face with such sad eyes. The moonlight coming through the window reflected off her perfectly white hair, giving her a halo around her head. Her lips turned down almost imperceptibly at the corners, her eyes narrowed slightly. Leliana reached up her hand to cup the mage's cheek, ghosting her fingers across soft, warm skin.

"_Je suis un imbécile_," she murmured.

Solona shook her head slightly, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch to get firmer contact with Leliana's hand. After another moment, she unfolded her arms and wrapped them around Leliana's shoulders, engulfing her in an embrace. Leliana wrapped her arms around the mage's waist in return.

"I don't blame you," she mumbled, now rocking slightly with Leliana in her arms. She pulled her head up, resting her chin on Leliana's head. "I didn't even realize it would bring that experience back in such detail until it was already happening."

"Still," Leliana replied, her cheek resting just above the mage's breast. "I have always prided myself in being more sensitive than all that."

Truthfully, it had been a long time since Leliana had been close to anyone. Not since Orlais had she even _begun_ to open up to someone else. She'd spent her time in the cloister closed off, participating in prayer and worship, but not getting close to anyone in any way that might approach friendship. She was still far too wounded.

Then, maybe a month before meeting Solona, she had met Leandra Hawke at the Chantry. The woman was so open and pleasant; she couldn't help but become friends with the older woman. They saw each other every day, usually, talking about nothing and everything. It didn't take long for her to learn that the woman's late husband had been a mage, an apostate. Then she learned about Bethany, as the trust between them grew. But she still hadn't opened _herself_ up – the Hawke matriarch had no clue about Leliana's past – but her relationship with the woman and her children had begun to undo some of the damage Marjolaine, and Leliana's own naivety, had done.

The point being, Leliana was out of practice. So many of her relationships had been built upon lies, mostly ones she had told about herself. She wanted a true relationship, based on actual trust, but she wasn't quite sure how to make it happen. Perhaps honesty was the best policy? It was certainly something she'd never really tried before; dishonesty was a requirement in her former life, and abandoning it was an exercise in diligence. She didn't know that she could just _tell_ her about her past just yet, however.

Solona pulled her from her reverie with a small kiss to the top of her head. A shiver ran down her spine from the point of contact, and she pulled herself into the mage's embrace more tightly. Somehow, over the course of the last minute or so, she had gone from giving consolation to receiving it.

"You are not to blame, Leliana," came Solona's muffled voice. She could feel the vibrations of the taller woman's voice against the top of her head. "I never went into any detail about what happened. You can't read minds; you had no way of knowing."

Leliana finally, reluctantly, pulled away, keeping her hands on the mage's hips as she looked up into slate-grey eyes. "I still feel foolish. I forget that your and Alistair's relationship only started to warm around the time I met you both. Alistair told me that you two had a less than stellar introduction, and I saw a little bit of the tension between you that first day."

Solona removed her hands from where they'd been resting on Leliana's arms as she moved away. Flopping on her bed with a sigh, she said, "Yes. I'm afraid it took me a while to forgive him his Templar training. It wasn't until I learned that he had little choice in the matter – much like me – that I began to even _attempt_ to look past it."

Leliana joined her, sitting delicately on the edge of the bed. She twisted to be able to look at the mage, resting one knee on the bed and her hands in her lap. "And what did you see?"

Solona smiled at Leliana from her reclined position. "He's a good man. And he makes good jokes." She grinned. "I can't wait to get drunk with him and see what kind of trouble I can get him into."

"Trouble?" Leliana's heart sank momentarily. She had been so sure that Solona was not the type to be interested in men.

Solona chuckled. "Sure. Can you imagine what I'd be able to convince him would be a good idea when he's drunk? I imagine it would be a lot like having a brother." _Brother?_ Now Leliana was just confused. "I'd probably even be able to convince him to play a practical joke on Morrigan. Not that either of us would come out of _that_ alive…"

Comprehension dawned. "Oh! _That_ kind of trouble! I thought… well, never mind."

Solona's eyebrows scrunched up. "You thought what?"

Leliana felt her face flush a little. "I thought you meant… to bed him."

The reaction was instantaneous. Solona made a gagging sound and exclaimed, "Maker, no! Alistair? Never!"

"Maker, no, Alistair never what?"

Leliana looked over to see the very man they spoke of standing at the door, a cautiously amused expression on his face. Solona just burst out laughing, leaving Leliana to explain.

"Your fellow Warden expresses her desire to enter a drinking contest with you, Alistair," she said, thinking on her feet. It had always been a talent of hers. "She expresses her doubt that you would win."

"Does she, now? Well, we'll just have to test that sometime. But maybe not the night before entering the Tower, hmm? It would be unseemly to appear before the First Enchanter hung over." He winked.

"Indeed. By the way, you look most dashing, Alistair. I'm glad you like the beard."

"Yes, you look like a regular dandy," Solona teased, grinning broadly. Leliana was glad to see that her earlier injury was forgotten, or at least soothed. _And_ that the way she related to Alistair didn't come close to approaching romantic.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "You just make the funniest jokes, you know that?" He made to leave, pausing just long enough to grace Leliana with a curious sort of smile.

She stared after him a moment, unsure once more of how to handle him.

"He likes you."

She turned to see Solona regarding her with an indecipherable expression. She sighed. "I know. I need to nip that in the bud, before he embarrasses himself."

The mage's expression changed to one of surprise. "So you don't like him back?"

Leliana shrugged. "He is a nice enough man. But I do not desire him, if that is what you mean. I… He is…" _I like __**you**__._ "Well, there is nothing wrong with him. I simply do not reciprocate the nature of his feelings."

"Huh." Solona sat up, looking thoughtful. "Well. That's too bad for him. Just, try to inform him before he does something stupid. I'm not sure his delicate sensibilities would ever recover."

Leliana giggled. "I will be sure to. Now, off to bed with you. We have a full day of uncomfortable homecomings tomorrow, and the best thing we can do is be well-rested for it."

* * *

_Reviews welcome! Tell me what y'all think! _


	6. Chapter 5 - Lake Calenhad and The Circle

_A/N: Aaaaand here we are, at the Circle Tower! I changed some things around, but not too bad. Nothing that really messes with canon. Just something to build up my Warden's past and character a bit._

_Let me know what you think. If things are paced well, if I gloss over enough, or too much, or not enough. All that jazz._

* * *

Chapter 5

**Lake Calenhad and the Circle**

Leliana awoke slowly. She hadn't slept in a real bed in two weeks, and she'd forgotten how uncomfortable sleeping on the ground was. She stretched, appreciating a real pillow under her head, and a clean sheet instead of animal furs, or her cloak. Though spring was rapidly approaching the heat of summer, the night air still held a bite of chill, and the fireplace glowed with coals. She looked forward to making tea upon them, but if she didn't get out of bed soon, she would have no time for it.

The other occupants of the room stirred as well. Leliana spied Morrigan sitting up and stretching much like a cat in the bed furthest from hers. She didn't recall the woman coming in the night before. Solona sat up as well, looking better than she had since Leliana had met her. It appeared they had all benefitted from a night in a real bed, and meals they did not have to prepare over a fire outside. She smiled to herself, slipping out of bed in a fluid motion.

She bustled, making tea, offering some to the other women. Morrigan scoffed, leaving the room quickly to do Maker only knew what. Leliana suspected the woman was accustomed to her solitude, and to bathing in the cold river. Given that it was almost summertime, it might even be rather refreshing, but Leliana would still take a hot bath over a cold stream whenever she had the choice.

"Here you are," she announced, carrying over a mug and pouring tea into it from the pot she had steeped the leaves in.

Solona smiled when she inhaled the aroma. "Thank you. It smells wonderful."

Solona's episode the week before had been a mystery. She and Morrigan had spent much of their time discussing it, along with, surprisingly enough, Alistair, who had apparently filled in some gaps for the mages. Leliana couldn't begin to follow even a portion of their conversations, and often gave up trying. But Solona had tried to paraphrase for her, during their few watches together, and Leliana usually understood these explanations

The mage had started with a story, which of course drew Leliana in like nothing else. She'd spoken of a time before the Circle, before the Chantry. Apparently, it was a time when there were mages who wielded weapons and magic alike. This in and of itself was not special – anyone could learn to wield a blade – but these warrior-mages had some primal connection to the Fade, calling upon immense power that was unavailable to normal mages. These mages somehow _used_ the power differently, as well, willing it with their mind much more directly.

It was at this point that Leliana began to get lost. She just didn't understand how magic was used to begin with. It had something to with the way mages incanted, but as an archer, she really had no concept of it. The point of the story, however, she did understand – these warrior-mages supposedly died out with the advent of the Circle. The common reason cited for this was that these warrior-mages were blood mages. But Solona and Morrigan – even Alistair, who knew far more of the history of the Chantry than she would have guessed – doubted this. They both recalled reading that blood magic was an advent of the Tevinter Imperium, of mages without the talent of these warriors who were trying to find a way to acquire it. They had made a deal with demons and brought blood magic to the world.

But it was just a theory that Solona was one of these mages, and as she hadn't been able to repeat the feat, they had exhausted their theories and begun working on getting Solona better in a fight once more. In addition, she had continued her sparring with Leliana, as well as beginning to work on her skills with more mundane weapons, taking instructions from both Alistair and Sten before falling asleep exhausted each night. The others had agreed several days before, without Solona's input, to let her have the last watch permanently for a little while, since none of the rest of them were being pushed so thoroughly to their limits each night. When she stopped collapsing to her bedroll as a matter of course, they would revisit the situation.

As they sat in relative silence, sipping their tea, Leliana surreptitiously studied the mage. She had dark skin and short, starkly white hair and eyebrows. If that weren't striking enough, the woman bore a purple tattoo upon her face. It was rather pretty, to be truthful, but Leliana knew it had a hidden meaning. Alistair and Morrigan both seemed to know what it was, but as it seemed to be painful for the mage, Leliana had not yet found a good way to ask about it.

In addition to all of this, Solona was remarkably tall. Leliana just came to her chin. And her frame was not unimpressive. It was clear she'd lost weight since leaving the Tower, and complained of sore muscles just often enough for Leliana to know she was constantly sore, unused to such constant physical exertion, but trying desperately not to show it. But she was very strong, as evidenced by what Leliana had witnessed the night before. The innkeeper would not let the mabari into the inn as dirty as he was, and the mabari would not willingly enter the lake. She had thought they were at an impasse, and was thinking of seeing if Sten could force the issue with either the innkeeper or the dog, when Solona had intervened. In one fluid motion, she had the dog in her arms and was trotting for the shore of the lake. She chuckled to herself as she thought of it.

Yes, the mage was very strong. Long, strong arms covered by loose, flowing shirts. And that vest! She cut quite the figure with her breasts held in place by that leather vest, instead of a corset, like most women. In addition, she had long, strong legs covered by skin-tight hose tucked into calf-high boots. The thoughts sent a shiver down her spine. After her experiences in Orlais, she thought that she would never be attracted to anyone again. At least, not this strongly. And yet, ever since she actually saw the face the Maker had shown her, she had experienced an undeniable attraction to the woman. And the mage seemed to reciprocate, if Leliana was any judge of such things. Memories of undressing her after her episode came unbidden to Leliana's mind.

Before she could explore on the fantasy further, Solona broke their silence. "What happened to your mother, Leliana?"

"Hmm?"

Solona ducked her head. "It's just that you talk about her not being around anymore, but you haven't said anything else. I was just curious. I imagine it's a rather personal question. You really don't have to answer, I'm sorry I asked." She was backtracking, and fast.

Leliana shook her head. "I do not mind, Solona. Really, after the questions of mine you've answered, you have every right to be curious. How about I tell you about her while we prepare for today? I'd rather be ready when the boys are, than rushing around while they wait impatiently."

Solona smiled. Leliana couldn't be sure, but she thought that a blush was coloring the woman's dark skin. The thought made her smile to herself. "That sounds alright to me."

Leliana got up from her perch on Solona's bed, ruffling Max's ears as she did. "Well, one of the things I miss most about my mother was how she smelled…"

* * *

"Good morning, fair Lady."

Leliana smirked when she heard Zevran, not needing to see his lecherous expression to know it was there. "Good morning, Zevran. I trust you slept well?"

He inclined his head. "Yes, in fact, I did. You look like you slept well, yourself, though how you can in a room full of beautiful women, I will never know. Certainly, if _I_ were in that room, little sleeping would have occurred." His eyes twinkled as he grinned at her.

Leliana shook her head. "And that is why you are not invited in the tent, my dear elf," she countered, smiling slightly as she took a seat across from him and reaching for a roll from the basket in between them. Solona made for the door, leading Max outside to relieve himself. The dog didn't like to go anywhere without his master in sight, and Solona had expressed a wish to stretch her legs before breaking her fast. Leliana turned her head back to the table, only to make direct eye contact with the elf. He smirked, clearly knowing exactly why Leliana had been staring, prompting the woman to blush. She had been caught ogling the Warden; there was no getting around it.

Instead, she chose to ignore it. "You have proven yourself a reliable companion, if nothing else, Zevran. And you can cook! How is it that you remain a bachelor?"

Zevran's eyes twinkled once more. Elven eyes were far larger than a human's, though not comically so, and Leliana found it difficult not to stare. "Ah, but I have too much love to give, _señorita_. If I were to allow a woman to tie me down, no matter how lovely, she would be depriving the rest of woman – and man – kind of my talents." He winked. "Besides, the life of an assassin does not lend itself well to the joys of domestic life." His expression grew sly. "As you no doubt know, my _bard_."

Leliana froze. How did he know?

"Your secret is safe with me, _señorita_, though I suspect the whole group will know soon enough. Secrets are difficult to keep in a group like this. Every single one of the group has a secret, perhaps with the exception of the dog. It is my job to deduce them, not to share them. A blabbermouth assassin is often a _dead_ assassin." He got up suddenly, before she could reply, moving away from the table to try to engage the giant Qunari in conversation. It seemed to be a personal challenge of his, to draw Sten out. So far, he had failed spectacularly.

Leliana could only stare at him for a moment before recovering. She looked away after several moments, losing herself to thoughts of her past as she gazed into the fire across the common room. Her breakfast sat forgotten, half-eaten and spread in front of her on the table.

She remained like that until Alistair appeared, shoving himself into the spot Zevran had occupied and reaching roughly for food. "Good morning," he greeted, smiling jovially. "I trust it's gone well so far?"

* * *

They stood on the ferry silently. They had left the cart behind at the inn. The innkeeper hadn't even charged. Leliana suspected he just wanted the boisterous group gone before his other few customers awoke. That, and he kept eyeing Sten nervously.

Leliana was watching an interesting shift in the two mages. Morrigan's scowl grew harsher and harsher the closer they got to the Circle Tower. Her disdain of the Circle was clear, and she had never shied away from voicing it aloud. Her open mockery of Solona had mellowed some, however. Leliana suspected their working together, and their magical sparring, to be the reason.

Solona's expression was more difficult to read. Leliana knew some of her history, how she felt about the Circle, but she suspected the emotions coursing through her at this moment were quite complicated. She saw the Tower as a cage, but it had also served as her home, and the home of everyone she knew to any degree, since she was a little girl. She had escaped and been forced back in, and Leliana suspected that Solona was feeling the ghost of the emotions from her forceful return now. But she was now free, legally, and probably felt a small amount of smugness, perhaps feeling that she was better than those whose aid she sought.

Leliana only suspected all of this, though. She couldn't be sure. Either way, though, the silence was killing her. She leaned over and whispered the first thing that came into her head. "Did I ever tell you that I like the way you wear your hair?"

Morrigan's eyes focused, snapping to Leliana's face. "My… hair?"

Leliana smirked. "Yes, the black strands sprouting from your head."

Morrigan's expression was unreadable. "Why do you like my hair?"

"It is… simple, yet elegant."

Morrigan stared at her in disbelief, then looked away with a huff. "You have an unusual fascination with hair, judging from how you butchered both the Warden's heads."

Leliana rolled her eyes. _Try to talk to someone…_

"I don't know," Solona said, looking between the two, clearly amused. "Hair says a lot about a person."

"Like how you're an apostate," interrupted the Templar currently using a pole to get them across Lake Calenhad. Leliana stared incredulously as he continued. "I know what your short hair and face tattoo mean. I remember when you escaped and came back. Mages belong in the Circle. You should be _ashamed_ for trying to escape. Everyone needs to know that they are punished when they break the rules. I still can't see how it was legal for you to leave the second time." More and more venom crept into his tone as he spoke, practically spitting the last sentence.

"Maker, if you don't shut up, I will not be held responsible for what they do to you-" Alistair started, obviously trying to make the man quit while he still had his life, but Leliana cut him off. She surprised even herself when she pushed passed them all in a heartbeat. A second later, they all flinched at the sound of her hand slapping the Templar in the face. Even Morrigan and Sten stared with what could only be called surprise.

"This woman is a Grey Warden! You will respect her and her companions, or you will hold your tongue!" She just couldn't stand it. The first thing they'd done to her as part of her torture was to cut off all of her hair, her gorgeous, luscious hair that she had been so stupidly proud of. Imagining that happening to Solona, being held down and shamed so, just for wanting her freedom, was too much. She'd been trying to draw them out of their solemn moods, and it had been working, before this idiot man decided to add to the conversation.

The Templar didn't say anything, just stared wide-eyed for a moment before nodding dumbly and turning away, busying himself with the pole. She glared at his back a moment longer before moving deliberately back to her spot between the two mages, not meeting anyone's eyes as she shuffled between them. She stared forward, almost daring them to say something. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so confrontational, but her temper had definitely gotten the better of her today.

"My knight in shining armor," she heard Solona's voice whisper near her ear. She sounded more than a little amused.

Leliana's lips quirked up at the corners in response, and she turned her head to look up at the taller woman. Solona's expression showed her amusement, causing Leliana to smile fully back at her.

When the ferry had bumped into land, they all got off in a hurry. Max ran off to pee on as much stuff as he could, and Morrigan, Sten, and Zevran moved away. Leliana suspected it was to get away from whatever uncomfortable conversation was bound to happen. Alistair looked like he might say something, but Leliana was saved when Solona cut in before he could.

"What is it with you and hair?"

Leliana smiled once more. She was relieved to be spared the serious conversation. They'd had far too many of those lately, and she had no wish to have another on the threshold of the Tower. "What? I like her hair. It is simple, yet suits her. Not like the elaborate styles we wore in Orlais. They involved flowers, ribbons, jewels…"

"Jewels?" Alistair was still with them, and wore a look of incredulity. Evidently, the man couldn't envision putting something so gaudy on his head.

Leliana nodded in answer to his question, seizing on the opportunity to shift the mood somewhat. "One year, feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise decided she needed to outdo everyone else, and actually wore live songbirds in her voluminous hair."

"That… is the epitome of having too much time and money," Solona scoffed, letting out a half-laugh when Leliana held up a hand to let them know there was more.

"The chirping was quite charming for a while, but you must realize, terrified little birdies often have loose bowels."

That was it. They both burst out laughing, Leliana joining them after a moment. As their laughing wound down, she continued.

"Dear Maker, you can but imagine what she looked like by the end of the evening!" Another round of laughter followed, the three of them sharing in a camaraderie that was coming more easily to them. They'd been walking together more and more on the road, and often ended up on watch in some combination of two out of the three of them. Leliana had noted with some delight that the other two's distrust of each other seemed to be waning. Their ability to talk about Solona's strange affliction, as well as their sparring, seemed to be doing the majority of the work.

As their laughter wound down, Alistair moved off to check on the others, and, Leliana hoped, to give her some privacy to apologize to Solona for bringing up such a loaded topic while amidst everyone.

"Forgive me," she started, looking up into the Warden's face. "I was just trying to draw everyone out of their silence, and instead forgot that I was treading into such _fraught_ territory." Maker, it sounded like she was trying to excuse herself. What had happened to her way with words? Perhaps she had spent too long in the Chantry.

"There is nothing to forgive, Leliana," Solona said, her smile turning from amused to a little sad. "You had no idea that Templar would be such a fool." Her expression softened. "Thank you, though."

Leliana's expression changed to one of surprise. "For what? Making everything awkward in front of everyone?"

Solona chuckled. "Sure, let's go with that. Or we could go with the fact that you slapped a Templar in the face for me." She smirked. "I swear they heard it up in the Tower!"

Leliana blushed a little, ducking her head momentarily. "He was so rude! I don't care what you've done, what he was saying was beyond disrespectful. I-" She stopped suddenly when two of Solona's fingers went over her lips, shushing her. The woman's eyes twinkled, almost like Zevran's, and yet so very differently.

"Please," she said, smiling that warm, earnest smile once more. "Just accept my gratitude. No need to explain yourself." Leliana just looked up into her eyes and nodded, barely able to focus on anything but the feeling of the mage's fingers on her lips. She almost whimpered when the fingers were removed, and Solona began to move off. It had been so long since she was able to feel anything like this toward someone else. She missed it. She couldn't let her leave, not yet.

"It's just," she began, her words stalling the mage, "I feel so comfortable talking to you, like I could say anything and you wouldn't judge me."

Solona tossed her a lopsided grin. "Perhaps I keep it to myself? You'll never know." She chuckled. "Honestly, I think it's adorable, how you ramble sometimes. Like yesterday, when you rattled on about pretty Orlesian shoes." The mage winked.

Leliana smiled, blushing slightly at the teasing, but pushing on, having to get this out before it killed her. Yes, it had only been two weeks, but it was important. Because of her past; because she couldn't let it dictate the course of her future. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I haven't felt this close to anyone in a long time. Not even at the Chantry. I know we've only known each other a short time, but I really enjoy your company, Solona."

Solona's grin just widened; she was clearly not done with her playfulness. "And… do you often enjoy the company of other women?"

Of all the responses to her sincerity, she wasn't expecting _that_. But there were far worse responses; this, she could work with. After all, she used to flirt for a living, right? She smirked, placing her hands on her hips and jutting one of them out as far as it would go. "And what would you say if I said yes? Very much so, in fact."

"Oh, I might giggle, maybe look coy? Isn't that how women respond to that sort of thing?"

Leliana chuckled. Solona, so far, had not proven herself to be _that_ kind of woman. "You must do that, then! Later, when I'm not prepared for it. Surprise me." She winked. "I'd love to see what you look like as a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Solona blinked for a minute, then burst out laughing once more. Leliana smiled to herself and moved off to see if she could help Alistair with anything, glad to have lightened the mood at least a small amount.

* * *

Solona's good mood didn't last long. When they got inside, it became clear that something was very wrong. Injured Templars abounded, some yelling out for mercy. Many had the thousand-yard stare she'd heard about soldiers getting amidst bleak battle. More than one looked traumatized beyond what their minds could recover from.

"This doesn't look good," she heard Alistair murmur.

"Yeah, no shit," replied Solona, moving with sudden purpose toward a Templar across the room. Coming to stand before him, she addressed him by name. "Gregoir, what is going on here?"

He turned, and Leliana was curious to see his expression go from surprise to disdain. "Ah, the _Grey Warden_. What, pray tell, are _you_ doing here?"

Solona stood up to her full height and answered him just as acidly. "I am here as one of the last remaining Wardens, _ser_. We have documents compelling the Circle and it's Templars to aid the Wardens in time of a Blight. There is a Blight coming, Knight-Commander, and _we_ are gathering the army that will stop it."

Leliana, standing behind the two Wardens, studied him as he studied the woman before him. He had greying hair, and was of a height with Solona. Even Alistair was only just taller than her, not even by an entire inch. He was broad, clearly used to wearing all that armor, probably capable of fighting and killing in it all day. She watched as his eyes flitted to each of her companions in turn, and she flashed him a charming smile when they landed upon her own face, feeling satisfied when he was caught off-guard by her reaction to his scrutiny.

Finally, he spoke. "You cannot have it. The Tower is compromised. I am awaiting the Right of Annulment from the Chantry in Denerim."

She had no idea what it meant, which confused her, as she'd spent more than three years in the Chantry in Lothering. Clearly, both of the Wardens knew, though, if the color draining from both their faces was any indication.

Solona spoke after several moments, her voice low, quiet, and promising a very high amount of pain should she not get what she wanted. "I would know what happened, Gregoir."

"You left this place, _Warden_." The Knight-Commander's voice was every bit as low and quiet as Solona's. "It is of no concern to you. And I have not forgotten your role in Jowan's escape. I see our mark upon your face had no effect whatsoever, _apostate_." He practically spat the last word.

Leliana felt the blood drain from her face. The tattoo was a _brand_? It marked her as an apostate? The hair she could almost understand, even if it was cruel in its own right. But to mark her so permanently, in a place she could never hide? _How can men of faith do such a horrid thing? The Chantry teaches forgiveness… But I suppose I've never actually __**seen**__ how it treats its mages._ The thoughts made Leliana uncomfortable, but she had no time to examine them further.

Solona's eyes narrowed dangerously at Gregoir's words. "Be that as it may, this was my home. They are my friends. My _family_. I would know what has happened here."

"Please," Alistair interjected, before the air between the two could grow any thicker. "We are not helpless. We have a mage, warriors, and I am a Templar. Perhaps we can help."

Gregoir's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You are one of the Order? How do I not recognize you?"

"I was only an initiate before I was recruited into the Grey Wardens. Duncan found me at the Chantry in Denerim before I was sent here to be initiated."

"Right. Well. As capable as I'm sure your rather _diverse_ group is, you are no match for my entire squad of Templars, and they were no match for the veritable horde of abominations now roaming the Tower. It must be purged. There is no other way."

Solona grew rigid at his explanation. Leliana was tempted to reach out a hand to comfort her, but she resisted – now was not the time for tenderness and platitudes, not in front of so many people. "You will let us in, Gregoir. There might be people alive. We must try to save them."

"And if we do," Alistair continued before Gregoir could deny the mage he clearly had no fondness for, "then will you help us against the Darkspawn?"

Gregoir considered him for a moment. After what felt an eternity to Leliana, he gave one curt nod. "You may enter. But know this: I will not open the door to let you out unless the First Enchanter himself is presented to me."

"Very well," Alistair said before Solona could reply. He led her away immediately, leaving the rest of their companions to stand awkwardly in front of the Knight-Commander. He peered at them all once more before walking away with a huff of disgust.

Leliana did not know what Alistair was saying to Solona, but from afar, at least, it appeared to be having a calming effect. She looked around as her companions moved toward the door and spotted someone who looked promising.

"Excuse me, ser," she called, moving toward a man who was clearly the Templar's supplier. "We did not come here expecting to fight. Perhaps we could purchase some equipment?"

"My lady, if you truly _are_ able to get rid of the horrors within, you may _have_ the equipment that I can spare."

She smiled. "Thank you, ser. I don't imagine you have light armor for my Warden friend? Or weapons for the elf over there? We left his at the inn. I believe he excels with a two-weapon style…"

Five minutes later, she was buckling light armor made of hardened leather in place of Solona's vest. The woman stood holding her staff out away from her body, allowing Leliana to adjust the individual pieces. She looked up when Solona spoke.

"I still don't see why I need armor."

"Because," Leliana sighed, explaining for what felt like the hundredth time. "If you decide to engage something up close, you should have more protection than your _hose_."

"But Morrigan has nothing but her robes – which can barely be called that, by the way."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Morrigan has never run at an opponent and thrown a flaming dagger at them without warning. Nor does she even know how to fight hand-to-hand. _You_, on the other hand, have fallen into some ancient mage-rage without warning. Besides," she added, standing and grabbing Solona's leather breastplate and giving it a sharp tug, an unnecessary adjustment. "I would see you safe. I cannot protect you from the Fade. I have no special abilities of the Grey Warden's. All I _can_ do is make sure you are armed and armored. So let me do this."

She went to move away, but Solona's arms came up to take each of her upper arms in her hands, holding Leliana in place. She looked up into the taller woman's face, and saw an expression there she couldn't read. The mage didn't say anything, just searched her eyes for a moment before drawing her into an embrace. Leliana didn't hesitate to hug her back, holding her tightly about the waist for several seconds, her face buried in the mage's shoulder. When Solona pulled back, she smiled slightly, then moved away, going to confer with Alistair and to ask the Templars guarding the large, heavy doors to open them.

She breathed slowly to calm herself down. Her emotions seemed to be getting the better of her today.

* * *

The heavy door slammed home with a heavy thud of finality. Leliana couldn't help but feel a slight chill. Everything about the Tower was all cold stone and high, vaulted ceilings. It was hardly homey.

Solona took the lead, immediately moving through the hallway they entered. They encountered nothing in the next few rooms except more tapestries, high walls and ceilings, and everywhere the cold stone. If she wasn't expecting a demon around every corner – what did they look like, anyway? – then she might find it beautiful. As it was, it just served to make her more and more uncomfortable. How did Solona grow up in this place, thinking of it as home?

After checking a few rooms, they began to hear voices. Zevran actually heard it first, with his enhanced elven hearing.

Alistair spoke up as they approached the doorway leading into that room. "What do you think? Abominations?" He looked just as apprehensive as Leliana felt.

Solona and Morrigan treated him with the same look of incredulity. "What is it, exactly, that you think an abomination is?"

_I have no idea…_

He shrugged at her. "I don't know. I never actually became a full Templar, remember? All I know is a demon inhabits the body of a mage."

"You would know an abomination. The body changes. The being no longer speaks in a way that even sounds human."

"Unless it is a particularly powerful spirit," Morrigan pointed out. "For example, my mother, as you know, has a powerful spirit inside of her."

"Right, because your mother is the picture of normal." Solona rolled her eyes. "The point is that those voices are from people, likely mages." She pushed forward, her expression hardening. "Let's go find out. Stay behind me."

Leliana pulled her bow, stringing it in one fluid motion. It made her feel safer just to have the weapon in her hand. She trusted the mage – she would certainly know – but she was still incredibly apprehensive.

They rounded the corner to the sight of an old woman holding a staff in their direction, a young man and woman and a score of children behind her. "Stay back! I can defend myself better than you might think!" Even raised in warning, the woman's voice was almost musical.

Solona stopped, turning her head to the side. "Wynne?"

The older woman lowered her staff a little, blinking. "I recognize you…"

"I should certainly hope so," Solona remarked, crossing the room quickly to stand with the group of children, unimpeded by the elder mage. "You taught me history, and we met at Ostagar briefly."

"Solona Amell? I thought you were killed along with the rest of the Wardens at Ostagar…" The old woman lowered her staff the rest of the way, regarding the rest of the group briefly. "Why are you here?"

Solona knelt among the children. "We came to compel the Circle to help us against the Blight." She hugged many of the children, murmuring to them indistinctly. One in particular, a little boy no older than six, didn't let go, and she eventually stood with him in her arms and turned, kissing his head and rocking him from side to side. "Tell me the situation, Wynne. We're here to lend what aid we can."

The sight of Solona standing there amongst the children, rocking the little boy with all of his limbs wrapped around her, melted Leliana's heart into a puddle. Suddenly, even with the shimmering blue field of light she spied over the only other door in the room, it felt like a home in here.

She stowed her bow and looked around as Wynne and Solona walked over to the corner, speaking quietly. She saw all of her companions had put their weapons away except Sten, who, she noted with some alarm, all of the children were staring at, wide-eyed. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm.

"They are children, Sten. Frightened. Perhaps you could sheath your sword?"

He looked down at her with his usual indecipherable expression. With a grunt, he nodded, sheathing his sword and turning away from her. She turned back to look at Solona and Wynne once more, a small smile on her lips. She didn't understand the giant man, but sometimes she found his predictability entertaining.

She caught Solona looking at her, the little boy sitting in her lap while she sat on a stone bench, listening to the other mage. When they made eye contact, she quickly looked back to the elder woman. Leliana didn't have much time to ponder it, however, as Morrigan came up beside her at that very moment.

"Why is she behaving like this? I thought she detested this place?"

Leliana glanced sideways at the witch. She wore an expression like something smelled very bad. "I think her feelings are more complicated than that, Morrigan. She may have hated the limited freedom here, but it was still her home. She still built relationships with the other mages living here. They taught her, and if I had to guess from the child currently clinging to her, she also did some teaching herself."

Morrigan was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed as she regarded the Warden. "I simply do not understand. It is foolish."

Leliana smirked. "You will, Morrigan. Just not yet."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Leliana didn't answer, instead moving away to speak with Alistair and Zevran, who stood together by the door they had come through. Alistair had become much more comfortable around the assassin, for reasons Leliana did not know. They often ended up on watch together, so perhaps it was a blossoming friendship from that?

"Are you two alright?"

"Oh, Leliana," Alistair said, clearly being pulled from some inner thoughts. "Yes, I'm alright. Zevran?"

"Yes, _señorita_, I am happy to say that nothing is amiss. I never had the chance to thank you for choosing such fine weapons for me." He indicated the two short swords crisscrossed on his back and the daggers at his belt.

"Well, it hardly seemed appropriate to send you to battle abominations and demons with nothing but your hands."

"Nevertheless. I see this as a gesture of trust, and I do not intend to waste it."

"And how is your shoulder?"

He moved the appendage in question. "Thanks to the mages' extraordinary healing poultices and potions, it is almost back to normal. It is truly astounding – I would have expected an injury like that to take at least a month to give me this kind of motion."

"Good. I'm glad you will not be defenseless today."

"As am I. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I may try to see if I can't coax our large friend into revealing his opinions on magic."

Alistair looked taken aback. "Why in the Maker's name would you want to know that? Don't the Qunari take a rather dim view of mages?"

"Indeed. Perhaps he feels strongly enough that I can actually provoke him?" He tweaked his nose and slipped by them, heading confidently over to the giant warrior. They made an odd combination, with a height different of more than a head.

"He's crazy."

Leliana chuckled. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he merely knew that I wished to speak with you alone."

Alistair turned to face her. "You did?"

"Yes. It is perhaps not the best time, but I would be remiss if I did not speak with you about something."

"What is it?" His brows knit in concern, making her feel that much more guilty for what she was about to do.

"Your interest," she stated bluntly. "You would do well to find someone else to spend it on."

Alistair just looked at her dumbly. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed. "I see the way you look at me, Alistair, and while the attention for its own sake is not unwelcome, I fear that if I do not say something, you will think I am leading you on." She paused, groping for the right words. "I think you are a wonderful man, and you will make some woman very happy. But that woman will not be me."

Alistair was quiet for a moment, his face moving evenly from bewilderment to embarrassment to disappointment, finally settling on a rueful half-grin. "Was I that obvious?"

Leliana smiled kindly. "Only to Solona and I." She paused. "Which possibly means nobody missed it."

"Great, that makes me feel so much better." He rolled his eyes, smiling despite the embarrassment of the situation. "Be honest – what is it that you don't like about me?" His face was suddenly that of a kicked puppy.

She placed a hand on his cheek as she looked up at him. "It is nothing to do with you, Alistair." She smiled warmly. "You are a wonderful man, as I said. But I am not in the market for a man. If I were, I imagine you would be the kind of man I would seek."

"Alright, I suppose I can accept that." He took a deep breath as she dropped her hand. "I'll try not to make it awkward if you don't?"

Leliana giggled. "It is a deal, Alistair."

He let out a sigh. "Good. Okay."

"I will give you some privacy. Thank you for understanding, Alistair."

She left him to his thoughts, feeling slightly guilty at the timing she chose, but mostly relieved that it had gone so well. She was at a loss for what to do now, but Solona saved her from having to figure something out.

"Alright, everyone. It looks like we have blood mages in the Circle. They staged a coup, as it were." Solona came over, still holding on to the boy. "We're going to get going in five minute. Wynne just needs to speak with the children and her apprentices."

"Is there anything else we should know," Alistair asked, concern clearly etched on his face.

Solona shook her head. "Wynne had more details, but that was the main crux of it." He nodded and moved on, eventually going to speak to Wynne himself. Solona came right up to Leliana, the child still clinging tightly to her.

"Leliana, I'd like you to meet someone."

Leliana smiled. "I saw you had a handsome suitor the moment we came in. What is his name?"

Solona smiled warmly down at her charge. "This is Robert. I taught him everything he knows. Isn't that right, Robert?"

The boy lifted his head and nodded, smiling into Solona's face. Solona smiled right back, finally putting the boy down and sending him off to the other mages. She looked up at Leliana with the same dopey grin on her face. The sight made Leliana's heart want to burst.

"He's a good boy. I've missed them." Her face fell a little. "I can't believe they've had to see what they've seen." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to _kill_ Uldred for this. This is _not_ the way to win freedom, dammit!"

Leliana's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Why don't you start at the beginning? What's going on exactly?"

Solona sighed. "Alright. So there's this mage, Uldred, who I never liked much, and he's apparently allied with Loghain and staged a coup, as far as Wynne could tell from the other mages who were in the meeting."

"Meeting?"

"Yes, apparently this all started from a meeting. The politics I mentioned to you some time ago."

"Right."

"Yes, well, some people made it out of there alive, and Wynne spoke to one of them. He told her what he knew before they were attacked. He didn't make it, and Wynne was forced to shut everything behind that barrier you see over the door over there."

"I _had_ been wondering what that was for…"

"Let's get going. I am eager to purge this place of this rampant evil."

They moved to the door, where Wynne was preparing herself. Hasty introductions were made, before Wynne dropped the barrier, leading them through the door with no hesitation.


	7. Chapter 6 - The Tower I

_A/N: Shorter chapter. This and the next were originally one, but then it became clear that there needed to be a chapter break where I end this chapter. So, sorry about that! But! It's Spring Break, which means those of you who like this fic get an extra chapter this week. Because I can. Because I've been writing like a fiend. So. Here you go!_

_Let me know what you think. I took a few liberties, and I'd like to know how they work for you. And let me know how you like this being told by Leliana's perspective. It just sorta wrote itself that way, even when I tried it from Solona's POV. So let me know how that works for you, too._

* * *

Chapter 6

**The Tower I**

Sten's war cry filled the cavernous room. They had still been unable to find him any armor, and Leliana winced as he took a punishing blow from a creature that appeared to be made from fire or magma before taking a backward step and bringing down his sword to sever what passed for the creature's head. Their new companion, Wynne, stepped forward immediately, healing the wound with the murmur of a spell.

Since leaving Wynne's apprentices and their wards, they had run into roomfuls of the creatures, the three mages immediately finding a way to get passed their differences and work together with a deadly efficiency that was frightening to behold. Alistair, Sten, and Max were really just acting as a buffer, keeping the horrors of the Tower away from the mages long enough for them to work their arcane arts. Leliana felt somewhat superfluous in their wake, but she contributed in what ways she could, unlocking doors and putting arrows in the eyes of the blood mages they came across.

Solona had stayed herself thus far, but had become possessed with a fervor that no one had yet seen in her. She was singularly determined to purge her home of these monsters.

"Is everyone alright," she asked curtly, looking around. Everyone bobbed their heads or murmured affirmative answers. "Good. Let's go."

Leliana ran up to her, falling in step beside her. She was walking very quickly, made even faster for Leliana because of the mage's superior height. The Orlesian was at a loss for what to say, but it would take being blind to miss the tension in the other woman. She settled on gently slipping her hand in Solona's. The mage turned her head to look at Leliana, giving her a wan smile.

"Hey," she said, giving Leliana's hand a squeeze. Leliana noted with relief that she did not pull away.

"Hey yourself." Leliana tried to smile, but could only knit her eyebrows at the tension in Solona's face. "How are you holding up?"

Solona's attempt at a smile vanished, her eyebrows also knitting into an angry expression. "I know all I can talk about is hating this place. But it was my home. And now it is turned into this… I don't even know how to describe it."

"I can't imagine what it would be like seeing your home turned into this." Every piece of furniture in every room had been overturned, if not outright destroyed. Things that were clearly prized possessions, mementos, journals filled with intensely personal words – it was all scattered as though some massive beast had barreled through. The only thing missing was the blood of the dead.

Solona made a noncommittal noise, pursing her lips and looking ahead. She didn't let go of Leliana's hand until they came to the next locked door.

"This is the library. Time to start looking."

Leliana nodded her head. "What should we look for?"

Solona shook her head. "We don't have time to do a complete search right now. Wynne, Morrigan, and I will just do a cursory sweep while we're in here." She let go and opened the door.

They were greeted by burning bookshelves and at least three of the molten monsters.

Solona didn't even look behind her to shout for the other mages. "Wynne! Morrigan!"

Leliana stepped to the side to make room, loosening her bow and pulling an arrow with the same hand. The arrows didn't seem to do anything but upset the creatures, but that had the potential to serve as a distraction, and distractions could often be the difference between life and death in combat.

Wynne strode through the door incanting, her staff raised. Water began pouring from its tip in a wide arc, which she directed at the beast that was currently bent on attacking the old woman. It hissed and shrieked, its flames trying desperately to stay alive despite the quenching water.

Alistair stepped around her and thrust his sword, an enchanted blade from his time training as a Templar, directly into what should have been its face. It succumbed to the two-sided attacked, shriveling and shrieking into a pile of ashes on the floor.

Solona was busy dealing with her own creature, backing away from the door and toward a strange podium at the far side of the room. Leliana watched, transfixed, as a guttural chanting fell from the woman's lips, her eyes fixed upon the monstrosity undulating toward her. When she reached the podium, which looked much like a fountain or birdbath, she dipped the tip of her staff in it and thrust toward the creature with a final shout. Some type of liquid sprang from the end of her staff, sailing across the ten feet between them to land sporadically on the creature's body. They pierced as though solid, a sickening sizzling sound rising above the din the rest of her companions made while dispatching the third creature.

A bright light flashed, forcing Leliana to close her eyes until it subsided. When she opened her eyes, Solona stood above a pile of ash, a long dagger in her hand, her staff lying on the ground next to the podium. She was panting heavily, glaring down at the remains of the creature she'd been fighting.

"Solona!" Leliana ran over, still holding her bow, and arrow fitted loosely to the string. "You are alright?"

Solona's eyes snapped to hers. "Yes. Shit, we need to put these fires out, right now! This is the entirety of the library of Ferelden's Circle!"

Leliana nodded, dropping her weapons and going to see what she could do. Only, Morrigan and Wynne were well on their way to putting out every fire, some kind of white smoke blowing from their staves making the flames die.

She stood impotently for a minute, watching in fascination as the mages did their work. She was nudged out of her gawking when her bow appeared before her. She looked up to see Solona holding it out for her, a tired smile on her face.

"Thanks for dropping everything. But they clearly have it under control."

Leliana nodded, taking her things with a smile. "Don't mention it. What was that in the fountain?"

"Raw lyrium. It crystallizes after a while when it comes into contact with air. We keep it under a spell to keep it liquid at room temperature. It's powerful enough to eat through almost anything in its liquid form, so I thought I'd use it on the demon." She shrugged at the last. "Seemed better than using my own limited energy."

"It was… terrible. And fascinating."

"The things we are capable of doing are truly otherworldly," Solona nodded, meeting Leliana's gaze. After a moment of just looking comfortably at each other, she seemed to shake herself from a daze. "Come. We must keep moving."

* * *

At the end of the second floor, they found the First Enchanter's office. Leliana crouched to pick the lock – apparently these doors were safe from being opened magically, but no one had thought to enchant them against lock picks – moving away once she was finished so that Wynne could enter first. She crossed the threshold just behind Solona, everyone else staying out in the hall, and stood in the corner as the two mages searched the room. The First Enchanter was definitely not there, but his things could provide some clue as to _why_ the Tower was currently crawling with abominations.

"Can you open this for me, Leliana?" Solona was crouched before a trunk in the corner. She moved over next to the mage, peering down at it.

"I can, but what's in there?"

"The texts I couldn't find in the library might be in here. This is where Irving keeps forbidden material, and that book also held information about blood magic." The look in her eyes was almost pleading, and Leliana couldn't deny that look.

She merely nodded her head and gently moved Solona out of her way so she could work.

It proved to be a rather stubborn thing, but after a few minutes of delicate work, it popped open with a satisfying sound. She removed the lock and opened the trunk, allowing Solona to take her place and begin rifling through the many books inside.

Wynne joined them after a moment, holding what appeared to be a journal. "You'll want to see what Irving wrote about your departure, Solona. It is… enlightening, if nothing else. I'm afraid it sheds no light on what happened in that meeting, however." Solona just nodded absently, absorbed in the pages of a particularly heavy-looking tome. Wynne noticed. "What do you have there?"

"Irving's private stash. This is the book I was looking for, that mentioned what happened to me last week." She stood and stashed it in her small backpack, making ready to secure it to her back. As she did so, something seemed to catch her eye, and she plucked another book, this one thinner and somehow more sinister-looking, up from within the trunk. Rifling through the pages quickly, she put it in her bag as well before securing it and moving out of the office.

Wynne seemed to disapprove, but said nothing. Leliana was curious what held the older woman's tongue, but felt now was not the time to ask.

* * *

"So, what is it the Qunari believe, my large friend?" Dammit it Zevran's voice wasn't polite and interested, like he was discussing the weather at a party with strangers. "You are named after it, yes? The Qun?"

Leliana watched from behind them as Sten looked over to the much smaller man and grunted with a nod. "The Qun. The path to wisdom. I am not surprised you don't recognize it."

"What is it, exactly?"

Sten looked forward once more. "Ask a tamassran: they know how to explain things to children. It is not for me to teach the Qun."

Leliana stifled a laugh. Zevran shook his head as the giant Qunari lengthened his stride, quickly overtaking Solona at the front of the group. She lengthened her own stride to fall in line with the elven assassin.

"I do not think he likes you very much, Zevran."

"Ah, but he simply does not yet _know_ me yet. I will win him over, yet, my friend, have no doubt about _that_." Optimistic as ever.

Leliana giggled. "Yes, well, perhaps you are right. But I see that he is not the only one you spend your energies on? You and Alistair seem to be on speaking terms, now."

"You noticed?" Zevran flashed her a smile. "He is a handsome man, but I fear enamored only with the women of this little group. A shame, really."

"Yes, I have… spoken with him about that…"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "You rejected him, then?"

Leliana nodded. "He took it well, I must say. He surprised me, really. He seemed too…"

"Innocent?" Zevran cocked a single brow with his suggestion.

Leliana nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose so. I do not think he has had much opportunity for romantic experience. I suppose it makes sense, as he was raised by the Chantry."

"Was he, now? Interesting. I had no idea."

Leliana smirked. "Are you planning on spoiling his maidenhood, Zevran?"

The elf chuckled. "Only if he will let me, fair Lady."

The fell into a comfortable silence after their quiet conversation, walking side-by-side with their weapons out, relaxed. After a few moments, however, she heard Solona addressing the giant Qunari up ahead. They had stopped moving, and Solona was facing the warrior, her hands on her hips. Leliana exchanged a look with Zevran, and they both picked up the pace so they could hear the conversation.

"Why did you come to Ferelden, Sten? Aside from murdering innocent farmholders." _What did he say to get her on the offensive like that?_

Sten looked down at her with his usual unreadable expression. "To answer a question."

Leliana moved around behind the giant, watching as Solona raised a brow in answer. "And what was the question?"

Sten hummed a little before answering in his deep voice. "The arishok asked, 'What is the Blight?' By his curiosity I am now here."

"Arishok? What, pray tell, is an 'arishok'?"

"The one who commands the antaam – the body of the Qunari."

"So he's, what? Your king?"

"Qunari have no kings." Leliana couldn't be sure, but she thought his voice was taking on a hint of disapproval.

"Why does he care about the Blight?"

"Why do you?"

Solona's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "I am a Grey Warden. It is my job."

"Exactly. You don't ask. Nor do I. The arishok sends me, and I go."

Solona knit her brows. She seemed more confused than anything else by his answers. "Don't you have to report back, then?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me if this is impertinent, but… what are you still doing here?"

"I cannot go home."

Solona looked like she might push, but then thought better of it. "Well, I suppose you can keep travelling with us. Until I release you from your bond…"

"Thank you. Can we move on? There are abominations to kill." He lifted his sword, an easy task for one of his size, and hefted it onto his shoulder, stepping away from her.

"But, wait," Solona said after a moment. "What were you doing in that cage?"

"Sitting, as you observed." He turned to face her once more, looking almost annoyed, though Leliana supposed she could simply be projecting how she _thought_ he felt.

Solona crossed her arms, settling into her usual sarcastic, joking manner. "Cute. You're the silent type, I see."

There was no mistaking it – Leliana was sure that was an annoyed expression. "Your grasp of the obvious is remarkable."

"Just tell me." Exasperation colored Solona's tone.

Sten raised an eyebrow, displaying fine motor control Leliana was surprised he had. _Though I suppose it's good he does, given he wields that massive blade…_ "I did." Leliana snorted a laugh, stifling it immediately by shoving her fist into her mouth. "Parshaara. Is there anything else?"

Solona put her hands at her side and shook her head. "I have no wish to go round in more circles with you."

"Very well. Let us go, then."

No one said anything else as Solona led them on, shaking her head as she went.

After a while, their surroundings began to change. A sometimes orange, sometimes red, fleshy substance clung to the walls, convulsing in the corners of the room. They ran into no more abominations, though they did find a possessed Templar, who they unfortunately had to kill. It was that, or let the man run around with a demon controlling him.

Leliana didn't want to know what the fleshy material was, and neither did anyone else, apparently. Even the dog – a species known to eat its own feces – avoided it, one sniff when they first entered that floor enough for him.

All banter had died down, her companions singularly focused. She walked with her bow out, an arrow ready to be drawn within the span of a heartbeat. It appeared the only way to the next floor was through the main, central chamber.

"How much are you willing to bet there's a creepy monster-demon in there," Alistair asked Solona in a loud whisper.

Solona snorted in response. "I don't think I'm willing to take that bet, Alistair."

They opened the door that would take them to the room with the next staircase in it, weapons ready for any threat…

* * *

_Sorry for the cliffhanger. I don't usually write a lot of them. As I said, this and the next were originally one chapter, but we decided splitting it would be better. So. Sorry about that!_


	8. Chapter 7 - The Tower II

_A/N: Alright, my lovelies, here's that extra chapter for you! And no cliffhanger this time!_

_I've just realized that the last couple chapters and this one have a lot of slapping. Oh well. The rest of the fic is going to have a lot of stabbing, of Darkspawn and others. So I guess it's not a big deal._

_Longer chapter now. The last chapter and this one were originally one, but my awesome beta Diablo Kades was right - this needed to be a chapter break. So sorry for the shorter chapter last time! Trust me, this one's making up for **that** in a hurry._

_Hope you enjoy! Let me know how it works for you! Especially this first part coming up. I really wanna know your opinion on that._

* * *

Chapter 7

**The Tower II**

The music was lovely this evening. And what was even better was that she wasn't the one performing it. She did love to play and sing, but right now she wanted nothing more than to drink a little and enjoy the party. Because for once, she had nowhere to be and no one to see.

She turned around, taking a fragile glass of the bubbling, dry wine from a passing elven servant, and studied the room. It was a truly remarkable affair. Everyone who was anyone was present, and they were all dressed their best. Leliana herself was wearing a gown of cream-colored silk bordered in pale green. It showed off a healthy measure of her modest bust without being scandalous, and was quite possibly the loveliest outfit she'd ever had the pleasure of wearing. Her long, gorgeous hair was down tonight, spilling over her back, hiding the expanse of her shoulders that the dress left uncovered. She felt beautiful.

A very tall, commanding Rivaini woman appeared like magic before her. Figuring she must have been moving through the crowd in order to appear so suddenly, Leliana studied her. Her clothing was fine, tailored perfectly for her tall, lithe form. She had pure white hair, cut very short, and had an elegant, sweeping tattoo upon her face. The way she moved from one foot to the other in front of Leliana made her want to dance.

And then they _were_ dancing. She didn't particularly remember how it happened, but she didn't question it; just let the tall woman in men's clothing lead her around the dance floor. She heard her name spoken a few times, but didn't understand any of the other words. She smiled politely, laying her head upon the woman's breast and sighing in contentment. There was really nothing better than being in the arms of a beautiful woman.

The thought brought with it a surge of desire, and she reached up her hands to bury in that short hair, tugging the woman's head down for a kiss. She hummed in pleasure as the woman's lips parted, giving access to her tongue. She tasted of honey and tea, and made Leliana want a taste of something deeper. She pulled back and placed one hand on each of the startled woman's shoulders, pushing her back toward the bed. They were in her bedchamber, and she was going to make passionate love to this woman. This woman who she knew.

This woman named Solona Amell.

Marjolaine spoke from her spot next to her on the bed, interrupting her thoughts. "This is your opportunity, my pet."

She was sitting astride the tall, dark woman, a knife in her hand. Leliana looked down, saw that they were both naked, her pale legs straddling the dark skin of the woman's hips. Her eyes were drawn to where her auburn curls met the woman's dark, thick curls, then back to the thin, razor-sharp knife. She looked to Marjolaine in confusion.

"You are a bard, Leliana. She is the target. Strike now, while no one knows you are here!"

Leliana looked back to where she straddled the Warden's hips.

Warden.

She was a Grey Warden!

"Dammit Leliana, put it down! You know me! I'm not your target!" It was like cotton had been removed from her ears. Her eyes widened, and she felt herself return as if from a nightmare. All around her, the world shifted, and then she was sitting straddling the Warden on some nebulous surface, formations rising in the distance. They were both once again wearing their leather armor, and Leliana's hair was it's proper length. Marjolaine's naked form was gone. She looked down into Solona's eyes, and saw fear, anger, and something she couldn't identify there.

The look came through in the color of her eyes. Slate grey, and yet looking vaguely blue at the moment, with pupils that were incredibly large. Large like they would be in a moment of passion. Like had they been kissing, stripping each other of their clothing…

She almost yelped as the rest of her memories hit her. She leapt back, putting as much distance between them as she could, and let her mind steep in memories for a moment. There had been a demon, an abomination covered in grotesque swathes of putrid flesh. It had spoken with a deep, slightly slurred voice, telling them to sleep. Leliana had tried to resist, but it was much like trying to keep the sun from setting – it was just too powerful a force.

So what had just happened? There was nothing to fill in the time between succumbing to the demon's commands and the party. It must have been a dream. And for most of it, a very _good_ dream – if sparse on the details.

"Leliana, pay attention!" Solona strode up to her, breaking Leliana of her reverie with her close proximity.

"Solona! I'm… sorry. I don't know what came over me." She looked away, ashamed.

"We are in the Fade, Leliana. Strange things happen here. But there is no time to discuss it. I just need to know you're you."

"I'm… me?"

"Yes. There's a sloth demon we must fight. No one's stayed this long – they've all dissolved into mist or something. Maybe that was them waking up…"

Whatever else she had to say was lost as a buzzing filled Leliana's ears. She smiled a little at the sight of the beautiful woman before her. The buzzing turned into a soft, faint music, and she began to sway slightly in time. The memory of their kiss made her smile widen, and she leaned forward, resting her head on Solona's breast, her hands sliding to the Warden's waist. She was a good woman, loyal, trustworthy – a Grey Warden. Surely it wouldn't be a mistake to trust someone again if it was this woman?

Leliana tilted her head up almost lazily, staring up with heavily lidded eyes and smiling wistfully. The Warden was looking at her with an expression of love, of passion, and she would lean down any moment, take Leliana into her arms and carry her off to bed. She would make love to her, make her feel safe, protected, like there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be.

Instead, she was shoved roughly away from the Warden, and before she could ask what had happened, a biting slap to the cheek made her whole head turn and her ears ring. The last thing she saw was the Warden's look of regret before the world seemed to fade away from her.

It reformed on the same nebulous surface as before, a monstrosity of epic proportions in front of her. Around her stood her companions, every single one of them dropping into a battle stance and pulling their weapons. Leliana quickly followed suit, taking aim on the beast before her.

When it spoke, it spoke with Marjolaine's voice, spitting out all of the poisonous things the woman had ever said to Leliana when she visited Leliana in the dungeons. It was odd, but the words didn't seem to come from the air - they seemed to sound inside her head.

As one, the group attacked the demon, Leliana's arrow embedding itself in the creature's eye a split-second before everyone else's attack struck. The beast fell, and the world faded away once more.

* * *

She felt cold stone against her cheek. Her eyes snapped open to the sight of the monstrosity's back facing her. An anger she'd never quite experienced before boiled up within her, and she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring cold, exhausted limbs. This creature had brought back her most shameful time of existence. It had preyed upon her weakness, trying to cripple her with a specter of the woman who had caused her so much pain, urging her to kill the person who was starting to mean a great deal to her. It needed to die.

Letting loose a battle cry she'd never heard from her own lungs, she ran forward, forcing protesting limbs to obey. Pulling her largest blade from its place on her back, she leapt upon the creature, causing it to stumble. It whipped around with surprising speed once it had recovered, but it was unable to throw Leliana, who had wrapped her free arm around its neck. With a feeling of triumph, she drew her short sword across the thing's putrid throat, feeling something far thicker than normal blood flow over the arm that was holding her to it. It fell to its knees, incomprehensible garble escaping it as it died.

The redhead loosened her hold as the creature fell forward, whatever parody of life it possessed now extinguished. She pushed herself up, stumbling as all the aches and pains of her exertions finally hit her at once now that her task was through. She cried out as she fell to the ground, her sword clattering from her fingers.

But she did not reach the cold of the floor. Strong arms caught her, wrapping around her waist and preventing her from hitting the stones. She looked up and saw Solona there, holding her much as she had when they danced. Only this was real, and that had just been a delusion, a dream caused by a demon, tricking her into revealing her innermost secrets and desires.

"Easy, Leliana. Being in the Fade for so long drains you. I don't know _how_ you found the energy to do that, but you saved us all." Leliana's heart skipped a beat at the smile the mage gave her. "My savior, once again." And then Leliana found her legs swept out from under her, Solona standing with the Orlesian in her arms. She found she was so fatigued, she couldn't even string a sentence together, and so she merely held on, her arms around the mage's neck as she was carried from the room.

She must have faded in an out of consciousness for a little while, because the next thing she was aware of was Solona bending over, setting her down on a staircase. Lifting her head from where she'd evidently rested it upon the mage's shoulder, Leliana let go. She found she was better able to sit upright than she was to stand, but still felt a bit woozy.

Solona stayed squatting in front of her. The mage produced a cloth from somewhere and began to clean the demon's ichor from her skin and armor. When she was through, she reached out, moving a strand of hair from Leliana's face and peering at her concernedly. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit unsteady," Leliana answered honestly.

"Well, that's to be expected. You _did_ just kill a demon. An old and powerful one, at that." Solona shot her a lopsided grin.

Leliana flushed. "But why am I so exhausted? You aren't. Neither is anyone else." She looked down into her lap.

She felt Solona hook a finger under her chin, a gentle pressure turning her to face the mage once more. "They're all exhausted, except Wynne, Morrigan, and I. We've done it before," she clarified.

"When?"

Solona's expression turned rueful. "My Harrowing."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow…"

Solona moved to sit next to Leliana on her step. "When you leave your apprenticeship in the Circle. They send you into the Fade, where you face a demon. If you succumb and become an abomination, they kill you. If you resist, you become a full mage of the Circle."

Leliana stared for a moment before she could find words. "That's awful! How could they do that to anyone _intentionally_?!" She'd just _been_ under the thrall of a demon, and couldn't imagine someone she trusted doing that to her. _Marjolaine might_… She physically thrust the thought away with a quick shake of her head.

Solona sighed, placing her elbows on her knees and propping her chin on her fists. "To be a mage that is in control is to be a mage who withstands temptation. We all had to do it. It's just how it is for mages of the Circle. Hell, even Morrigan was thrust into the Fade by her mother, to face a demon. _She_ was only eight."

Leliana didn't know what to say, so she just placed a hand on Solona's shoulder, trying to simply be present. She remembered how she had acted in her dream, but didn't know how much of it Solona had actually experienced. Remembering it with her waking mind was like trying to make sense of her memories from childhood – the things that made sense in it just _didn't_ now. Hopefully, most of Solona's involvement had simply been imagined…

Wynne approached them, a sympathetic look upon her face. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"I am exhausted, but otherwise unharmed. Thank you for your concern, Wynne."

"Think nothing of it, child. I've given everyone else something to restore their energy. Well, everyone but Sten, who refused." She smiled slightly. "I have one here for you, as well, dear. It seems as though you could use it." And she placed a vial with a clear fluid in Leliana's hands, moving away before she could even be thanked.

She was expecting it to taste vile, or burn, or _something_, but instead, the potion was tasteless. It did the trick, and within a few minutes, Leliana's aches were gone, and she felt she could stand on her own. She got up, stretching and testing her limbs, walking around the room a little as she did so.

"All set?" She turned to find that Solona had trailed her around the room.

She nodded. "I just need to get my weapons back, and I am ready to go."

"Oh, I, uh, I actually grabbed those for you." Alistair, who'd been doing as she had done and warming up by pacing around the room, offered her the sword and longbow. She thanked him as she took them, turning absently as she slid the blade home in its sheath. She stopped her rotation when she spotted the other Warden a few yards away. A smile crept up on her face as she watched the tall woman giving her dog a hearty belly rub, muttering low to him about how good a boy he was.

She stood watching until Solona stood up and looked in her direction. Her face flushed, and she hurriedly moved to stand on her own. After a few minutes, they moved on.

* * *

"Is he… trapped? What is that thing?" Alistair moved to the Templar trapped in some kind of cage of white light. He was crouched on one knee, muttering the Chant of Light and rocking slightly back and forth.

"'Tis a… magical prison." Morrigan began stalking around it, completely ignoring Alistair, who was trying to coax the man out of his prayers, to acknowledge them. Her eyes looked like those of a cat that had discovered a mouse, and only needed to figure out how to reach it. "Fascinating."

Leliana came to stand next to Alistair, looking down at the poor man. Solona joined them, wearing a pitying expression. "I know this man," she said.

"I recognize him, too, though I am afraid I don't know his name," said Wynne, coming to stand beside them. Leliana looked back to find Sten and Zevran standing with Max. Sten in particular seemed to be having a rough time in the tower, if she could judge the giant at all. He had started several arguments with Solona since their time trapped by the Sloth demon, and the only thing that had stopped the last one had been her reminding him of his oath to her.

She looked back when Solona explained who the man was. "His name is Cullen. He was always very kind to me." Her eyebrows lowered in concern. "I wonder what happened to him to that he is trapped in this device." She kneeled down, Leliana joining her, to study the man. "Cullen," she called softly, prompting a whimper from him. "Cullen, it's Solona. Are you alright?"

"Stop tempting me, foul creatures!" His voice filled the room in a panicked shout. "You will not win my will! Foul beasts, to use my infatuation with her against me! Her! A mage! It is forbidden, and you taunt me with it! Begone!"

He looked up, a look of dismay marring his face as he looked right into Solona's eyes. He stood up somewhat shakily and spoke, his face now disbelieving. "You're still here? But that's worked every time before."

Solona had stood up with him, a look of deep concern on her face. Leliana didn't blame her. This man had apparently been in love with her, or at least sweet on her, but she gave no clue as to whether she'd known or not.

"We're real, Cullen. It's all right. We're going to find a way to get you out of there." She held up a hand, testing a touch against the "surface" of the white light. "What happened that you're in here?" She patted the surface a couple of times; apparently, it caused no harm to touch.

"It's Uldred! He's a blood mage." Cullen seemed willing to accept that they were real; honestly, he was downright relieved, if Leliana could judge such things. "He and a whole slew of other mages took Templars and mages alike into the Harrowing Chamber! Abominations have been pouring out! They have been torturing mages and Templars until their wills break. I'm here because my will has not yet broken." He rested both hands against the light of his prison, looking into her eyes desperately. "How are you here? Why did you come back?"

"It's my home, Cullen. Or at least," she added softly, "it was."

"But you left! After helping that blood mage to escape!" He was getting upset, anger and accusation creeping into his tone.

Leliana still hadn't gotten that story out of the mage. She would need to ask her about it, sometime when things had calmed down, and they were alone.

"I came for a different reason," Solona explained, her features hardening some at Cullen's tone. "But when I saw what was happening, I had to help. Would you fault me that?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed. "It is no matter. You must kill everyone in there!"

Both Solona _and_ Wynne balked at this, Morrigan finally making her way into the conversation. "You would have us kill them all for this one mage's folly?" Her eyes were narrowed to match his. "You are no better than the full of a knight-commander out there, ordering the purging of the Tower because of his fear." _Is that what this Right of Annulment is? How terrible._ This conversation was going downhill so quickly that Leliana barely had time to think.

At Morrigan's words, Cullen seemed to notice the rest of them for the first time. He panned around, taking in the apostate, the former Templar, the giant man with horns, the politely smirking elf, the giant war dog, the elder mage, and, last of all, Leliana herself. His eyes snapped back to Morrigan's face as he answered her. "They have forced the other Templars into submission. They are now abominations. The other mages – it is impossible to know who is infected. The only safe course of action is to kill them all!"

Morrigan's eyes narrowed even further, but it was Sten's voice that replied.

"It is a good plan."

The effect was immediate. All three mages _and _Alistair whirled around, staring at the giant in disbelief. Leliana herself had an almost physical reaction to his words, and she was the one who spoke.

"You think we should kill everyone in there because they _could_ be abominations?"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"It is the safe thing to do. As the Templar said."

"You are wrong." She turned, catching Solona's eye before looking back to Cullen. "You are wrong. We do _not_ kill innocents." She eyed him a moment, trying hard to ignore the small voice inside her that reminded her of what she'd done as a bard. "Or should we kill you, as well? Perhaps you did not fare as well as you thought against their influence?"

The blood drained from Cullen's face. "No! You shouldn't kill me! I didn't lead this incursion!"

Solona spoke. "Exactly. Neither did Irving or the other innocent mages. We will kill Uldred. We will save anyone else we can."

"But-"

"I am not bargaining with you, Cullen." She searched his eyes. Her voice got quiet, low. "I am sorry I could not be what you wanted. Stay here; stay safe. We will return for you soon. _With_ Irving and the others." She turned and marched right up to Sten. "And if you kill someone who isn't attacking us, I _will_ kill you, Sten. Is that clear?"

He looked down at her with his usual impassive expression. "Perfectly."

She nodded once and moved passed him, removing her staff from its place on her back and stalking to the staircase, turning to address them all once she was at the bottom step. "Are we all ready?"

Leliana looked around, seeing a chorus of nods, each member of their party readying what weapons they had. Leliana herself removed her bow from her back, stringing it with a swift, practiced motion and pulling an arrow with another. She found Solona's gaze on her, and she nodded once in answer to the silent question in the mage's eyes.

Solona nodded back, turning to move up the stairs.

* * *

Uldred was insane. That was the only explanation Leliana could think of.

As he and Solona argued, she melted into the shadows, accompanied without prompting by Zevran. Their gazes met for an instant; they exchanged a nod, and headed off silently in opposite directions.

"I'm sorry, are you upset I killed your lackeys?"

Solona seemed to be settling into a biting sarcasm in her anger. Leliana thought it suited her a lot more than the guilt and uncertainty the mage seemed to have been fighting through before they got to the Tower. It struck her that _this_ was territory the mage was familiar with. Outside of the Tower, she knew very little by experience. But here, she could take authority – it was _hers_, and they were all looking to her for guidance in this realm that was so unfamiliar to them. Even Wynne seemed to be taking the younger mage's lead on this venture.

"You're mad! There's nothing _glorious_ about what you've become, Uldred!" Wynne's voice carried to her from the other side of the room. She was crouched low in the shadows, her bow out, an arrow ready to be aimed and released. A glint of light alerted her to Zevran's position directly behind the insane mage who was admitting that he was an abomination. Hopefully the elf would be able to take out the insane man before too much blood was shed.

When Uldred pointed out Irving, the First Enchanter, Leliana changed tactics. Stowing her weapons, she began to move again, hoping to get behind him and pull him out of harm's way. She could feel the argument coming to a head, and had little time to make it into position.

"Okay, I'm done, Uldred. You were a swine when I was here. And now you're a crazy swine." Solona spoke dismissively, but acted surely and swiftly, immediately breaking into the words of the Litany of Andralla. She droned in a deep, monotone voice, eyes fixed upon Uldred. Leliana had no more time to watch, however; she had to act. So as Sten burst forth with a war cry; as Alistair traced his sword in an odd jerking motion and shouted a single word of power; as Morrigan and Wynne began reciting together in an entirely uncharacteristic way; and as Max paced back and forth in front of his master, ready to defend her to the death; Leliana rushed from the shadows, wrapping her arms around Irving's shoulders and heaving him back from danger.

He cried out, struggling weakly, but hearing her voice near his ear seemed to calm him. She deposited him somewhat unceremoniously and turned, crouched protectively in front of him, to regard the battle. Uldred and Solona seemed to be locked in a battle of wills, Solona chanting ceaselessly as his body trembled. Sten was locked in fierce hand-to-hand combat with a creature of decomposing flesh, his sword forgotten on the ground some feet away. Alistair was driving his weapon into another creature, already turning to help Wynne and Morrigan, who were holding off three others on their own. She looked for Zevran, getting ready to curse their trust of the assassin when she caught sight of him, stalking forward almost casually from the shadows.

He walked around in front of Uldred, who did not seem to see him at all. The elf studied the mage for a moment, looking between him and Solona. Neither acknowledged his presence. Before she even knew what he intended, he pulled back a dagger and struck Uldred in his temple with the hilt; it only stumbled the mage, but it did the trick, breaking his eye-contact with Solona.

_Why didn't he just stab the man? Or slit his throat?_ She would need to ask him later, if she remembered.

In any event, it seemed to be all the help Solona needed. She lifted her staff with a shout, directing a bolt of electricity that Zevran barely leapt away from before being cooked. The electricity hit Uldred just as his body transformed, causing a very large, very dead demon to fall at the mage's feet, narrowly avoiding crushing her with its weight.

And just like that, it was over. Silence reigned as all of her companions looked for more foes to fell. Leliana, too, examined the room. They had saved several of the mages who had not fallen prey to Uldred's madness, chief among them Irving. In addition, no one seemed to be sporting any serious wounds. Max was limping slightly, but even as Leliana noticed, Wynne was coaxing him to stay still while she healed him.

Solona stood stock still in the middle of the room, her body rigid, her staff still raised. Alistair walked over to her and began speaking, but Leliana could not hear a word. She resisted joining him, as it seemed as though this was something she could not help with. Instead, she went to check on the assassin, whose actions seemed to have saved them all a long, bloody battle.

"Ah, _señorita_, I hope you have come to reward the fair hero? My bed has been rather cold of late." Zevran's eyes glinted with his ever-present mischief.

Leliana chuckled. While his lecherousness may eventually grow old, this kind of banter was _quite_ easy for her to handle. "Ah, but I cannot, my dear Antivan. I am afraid that I enjoy the hunt. You are simply too _easy_."

Zevran clucked his tongue, winking at her. "It is usually a winning strategy. I think I will keep it, even if it keeps you out of my bed."

Leliana shook her head, deciding to change the course of their conversation. "Why did you only strike him with your pommel? He didn't know you were there - you could have simply slit his throat."

"Something I heard once. A mage locked in a battle of wills has their mind slightly linked with the other. I was afraid that if I killed him outright, harm would come to our fearless leader."

Leliana regarded him thoughtfully. Where had he heard such a thing? "Are you all right? You were very nearly fried."

"I am fine, my fair Lady," he answered, giving himself a quick once-over. "I will admit that it was rather close, but nothing is ever certain – that is the fun in life, in my opinion. It is no fun without a little risk."

Leliana could appreciate that sentiment. Life in the cloister had been peaceful, but the last few weeks had held far more excitement than the three years before it, for sure.

She was about to say as much when they were both surprised by a resounding slap. Leliana turned to see that Morrigan had just delivered what was probably a ringing blow to Solona's face.

The mage seemed to be recovering from some type of trance. She swayed for a moment, shook her head almost violently, then thanked Morrigan gruffly before moving away. Alistair and Morrigan shared a look that Leliana couldn't place before moving after the Warden.

Leliana moved to get Irving to his feet. It was done. They had done what was necessary, and freed the Tower from the influence of the blood mage and his demon. They could be rid of this place, and perhaps even get a good night or two's rest.

"Let me help you." Leliana turned her head to see Solona take Irving's other arm. With their height difference, Leliana was no longer needed to aid the old man in walking. She slipped out from under his arm and fell in behind them. She couldn't bring herself to look into Solona's eyes, not anymore. All she could think of was the contents of that dream.

"Are you alright, Irving?" The old man nodded. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. His robes were wrinkled, and he was having an incredibly difficult time walking. Who knew how long he'd been forced to sit upon that stone floor? And at his age?

"I will be alright, Solona. How is it that you are here with such incredible timing?"

"We came looking for the Circle's help against the Blight, Irving. The battle at Ostagar went badly, as I'm sure you know. The Grey Wardens were demolished, thanks to Loghain; everyone except Alistair over there and I is dead. We are hunted by Loghain's men, yet we must fulfill our duty and defeat the Blight."

"How will you defeat a Blight with just the two of you, child?"

"We have treaties compelling the Circle, the dwarves, the elves, and men to aid us. That will be our army. We have some time, at least – the Darkspawn did not escape the battle unscathed. Demolishing the king's army took its toll, and their army will not be able to march again in large enough numbers until next Spring."

Leliana saw Irving nod. "I suppose that is the right way to look at that tragedy. Well, I can say right now that you have the Circle's support. We will spend the next year rebuilding, focus on training those mages and apprentices who survived this incursion in battle and healing magic. How long will you stay, child?"

"I don't know, Irving. We have much to discuss. Something… happened to me, something involving my magic, and I was hoping to find some answers. I took a book from your office, but I was also hoping that you might have some wisdom to share."

"Well, let's get downstairs, get Gregoir to call off the Right, and we can speak once I've had a chance to rest. I imagine we _all_ need some rest after that ordeal."

Solona chuckled at the old man. "You aren't wrong there."

The left the room, finding Cullen free of his prison with the death of Uldred, and made their way down to the bottom of the Tower.

* * *

_So. Let me know how this worked for you? I changed some things, especially in the Fade. God, I hate that part of the game. Seriously? This is an RPG, not a puzzle game. I hate puzzle games. And, once again, let me know how this works for you, being written from Leliana's POV. Thanks, kids!_


	9. Chapter 8 - The Tower Is Free

Chapter 8

**The Tower is Free**

Solona let the water drip off of her face for a moment. She stared into the rippling water, the events in the Tower rolling through her mind. Her battle of wills with Uldred had left her… it was hard to describe. It was like she had a fever in her blood, calling to her to keep on dominating, to break those unwilling to bend to her will. She didn't know what had caused it, but Morrigan, apparently, had known how to end it. A sharp slap to the face had brought her back to herself.

But she had been ashamed and confused, refusing to speak with anyone but Irving on their way out of the Tower. They had picked up Cullen along the way, but she refused to speak with him as well. By the end, he was sulking, reserved, then calling for the death of all the mages once he got to Gregoir, which Gregoir thankfully refused to do, electing instead to examine everyone thoroughly. She very much doubted whatever infatuation he'd held for her was still in place. All the better – she was far from interested in him.

So far, Alistair, Wynne, and even Sten had tried to engage her in conversation, the first two out of concern, the latter to argue with her once more over a mage's proper place in the world. She'd countered with her knowledge of what the Qunari did to their _serabaas_, chained, with their tongues cut out, and then walked away from him. For Alistair and Wynne, all she had was silence, shaking her head and moving away. She and Alistair had grown closer, it was true, exchanging jokes and histories, finding an easy peace with each other. Wynne was not like the rest of the Circle mages – her performance in the Tower had proven _that_ without a doubt. But she simply had no words for them.

She was glad they had succeeded, but confused by her ordeal within the Fade, and atop the Tower.

She growled, frustrated, grabbing a rough towel and scrubbing it over her face. Her own dream of Weishaupt had been almost comical, the demon thinking she wanted a peaceful time with the Wardens. Even though she _did_ want that, she had learned to retain her memories within the Fade when she went through her Harrowing, so recognizing the illusions for what they were was terribly easy. Her fights with the demons had also been easy – it seemed they were not used to someone who recognized them for what they were so readily. Even Sloth itself had been only a slight danger.

No, what had left her feeling discombobulated had been her ordeal with Leliana. She had been the most difficult to remove from her dream. It had been a wonderful dream, Solona had to admit; at least at first. It had quickly escalated, however. Solona'd had no clue why it was so hard to awaken the woman until she realized that she herself was actually _part_ of the illusions, part of the desires swirling deep within Leliana's mind. That realization had struck at the same time that her clothes had disappeared. She'd looked up to see Leliana, also naked, straddling her hips, a slender knife in her hand. A naked, creamy-skinned brunette, older than the both of them, had been present as well, urging Leliana in Orlesian to kill Solona.

It had taken her until that morning to put two and two together. But now she knew that Leliana had been some kind of assassin in Orlais, that it must be the reason she had fled to Ferelden. And she wasn't sure how she felt about the information. Especially not when juxtaposed against the feel of the woman's body atop hers, before she'd realized Leliana might actually try to kill her. Though Leliana had clearly been confused to find herself in that position. And she had listened when Solona had told her to stop.

But she had fallen right back into fantasy, looking up at her with those eyes full of affection, of longing, and no small amount of lust. It was honestly one of the hardest things she'd ever done, to snap her out of it with a slap to the face. It had worked, of course, and Leliana had disappeared, reappearing with everyone else when she was finally confronted with Sloth in the Fade. Leliana had seemed to take the demon's manipulation of her desires personally, savagely killing it whilst the rest of them fumbled with cold joints and bodies drained of energy once awake.

And, really, what was so wrong with having been an assassin? Solona supposed it simply did not jive with the image she had of the woman, peaceful lay Sister that she had been when they met. Perhaps she should talk to her? She didn't know. She had collapsed in the bed at the inn the night before, and when she'd awoken not a half hour before, it was clearly past noon and Leliana had not been in the room. Morrigan had, but had left rather quickly after Solona had gotten out of bed, not saying a single word to her, only staring critically before vanishing. She suspected she would be hearing more about her little domination trance sometime in the future.

Solona sighed, tossing the towel aside and turning around. She found Max looking at her, his head cocked to the side.

"Well, what do you think I should do, boy?" He cocked his head to the other side, letting out a single whine. She laughed, falling to her knees and pulling the dog in to kiss his forehead.

"Well, it is good to see you smiling."

Solona looked up to see Leliana in the doorway. She was wearing a dress of pale green, her hair damp, her feet shoeless. Her lips were quirked in a half-smile, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the doorjamb. She looked absolutely stunning.

"Good afternoon, Leliana," Solona greeted, getting up and sending Max out to relieve himself. The dog seemed to be more comfortable out of her sight since she'd found him in his adorable doggy-dream in the Fade. As she had suspected, the demon had had only the most tenuous of holds upon the dog; he had abandoned his meal and mating partner as soon as he had had a good sniff of Solona.

"Good afternoon, Solona."

"Did you bathe?"

"What?"

"Your hair is wet. Did the innkeeper find it in his heart to heat water for you?" She went to sit on her bed as she talked.

"Oh." Leliana pushed away from the door, going to sit on her own bed. "No, he did not. I went swimming in the lake. It is already warm this afternoon. It is going to be a brutally hot summer."

"Joy of joys," Solona replied, not really knowing where to take the conversation. It had been easy to show her affection, to comfort her, directly after their battle with Sloth, to pick her up and carry her out of that room with its awful stench. But now, far removed from those circumstances, she found it to be awkward. She didn't even know how well Leliana remembered her dream.

She was saved by Alistair, of all people. He came to stand hesitantly at the door, dressed in loose cotton trousers of brown and a light tunic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I… came to check on you. On both of you."

"It's all right, Alistair."

"Can- can I come in?"

Solona looked at Leliana. "Sure, if Leliana doesn't mind." Leliana just shook her head, not looking at Solona. The mage looked back to Alistair. "Sure, come in. Just, don't let Morrigan see you sit on her bed." He lips quirked up in a grin.

"Right, maybe I'll just sit next to you, if that's all right. I'd rather like to keep the skin on my face, if it's all the same to you."

Solona laughed outright. Oh, but it did feel good to be able to laugh. Maybe her lack of cheerfulness wasn't going to be permanent.

"First Max, now Alistair," Leliana said, her voice sounding amused. "Is it something about the male species that can get you to smile?" Solona looked up to see Leliana's expression mirroring her amused tone.

"Well, sure," she responded, glancing sidelong at Alistair. "They just look so funny."

"Ouch!" Alistair smiled as Leliana let out a refreshing laugh. As somber as Solona had been after the Tower was freed, Leliana had been more so. Solona realized that she had missed the bell-like quality of the woman's laugh.

"I'm actually glad that you are here, Alistair." Leliana shifted uncomfortably, drawing Solona's eyes to the small expanse of her thigh that was showing above her knee. "I… had something to tell the both of you. I was not completely honest with you before. But now that Solona has seen some of the truth – in the Fade – well… at first, it was self-preservation, the reason I have not spoken of my past. But I find that, in truth, I have feared how you would judge me for it."

"Well… what is it?" Alistair sat forward, his face and posture all concern.

"I… am not a minstrel. I sing, and play the lute, that much is true. I have entertained at parties, and traveled quite widely while I was in Orlais. But in Orlais, there is a difference between a minstrel and a bard. A bard is… like an assassin, perhaps? Though not like Zevran. A bard is a political weapon employed by every single Orlesian noble."

"I have read of these," Solona said, remembering back to her readings on the Orlesian political system. "You would perform the deeds that polite Orlesian society deemed improper for the nobles to perform outright? Something like that?"

Leliana nodded. "Precisely. My weapons, in addition to blades and arrows, were subterfuge and seduction. I played the Game, and I was good at it. I enjoyed doing something I was good at, and never once questioned the morality of what I was doing. I was… young. And foolish, and bored with the life of a noble girl. I was never fully considered a noble, being adopted by Lady Cecilie but born to a commoner from another country. But I was not home among the commoners of Orlais, either – I knew too much of nice things to feel truly at home."

Leliana paused, looking between them before she continued. "I met a woman at a party, a retired bard married to an elderly nobleman. We… became lovers…" Leliana was getting visibly agitated as she spoke, fidgeting in her seat, avoiding both their gazes. At her final confession, it seemed she could no longer sit still, standing abruptly to begin pacing the room.

Solona, for her part, wasn't surprised by this, not after what she had witnessed in Leliana's dream, but she hoped hearing it would clear some things for her. She was surprised, or at the very least _very interested_, at the last confession however. _They were lovers_? The thoughts this produced in her head were dizzying. Looking at Alistair, she could see that he had much the same reaction.

As Leliana paced – still not meeting either of their gazes – she continued. "She took me under her wing, trained me to sing and flirt, and later to seduce and kill. I was very young when I met her, and I… I would have done anything for her." Her voice was growing thick, like she was talking around a lump in the back of her throat – which, Solona realized with a pang of guilt, she probably was.

"After her husband died, she moved me into her home, lavished me with attention, and turned me into her... pet. And I was happy to play this part, so in love with her was I." Her tone was getting hard; she was clearly judging herself far harsher than Solona or Alistair might have been. "She became my bard-master, I her student. I… did so many things I am not proud of. I am ashamed by my own enjoyment of the Game, and of Marjolaine's cruelty, toward me, and toward others."

Solona sat up as realization suddenly struck. "That was the woman? Beside us on the bed?" She ignored the way Alistair's eyebrows shot up in surprise in response to her question.

Leliana's blue eyes snapped to Solona's grey ones, a look of shock, then resignation, flitting through them. She merely nodded once before shifting her gaze away again, continuing her pacing. "I loved her so, but, as it turned out, she did not return my affection to the degree I thought." She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "A job went… bad. There was a man I was sent to kill. I was to bring her everything on his person. My curiosity eventually got the better of me, and I opened the sealed documents, only to find that Marjolaine was selling state secrets."

Alistair let out a low whistle. Solona could only agree. She wasn't a statesman, had never been involved in any kind of governing, but she was incredibly well read. She understood, at least academically, the severity of treason, and that was exactly what this Marjolaine had been dabbling in.

Leliana nodded in response to Alistair. "I went to her, begged her to reconsider what she was doing. I was not concerned over the treason, you see, simply frightened over what might happen to her if she were caught. She was angry with me, we fought, but eventually she gave in, and arranged for me to return the documents. Only, there was a full compliment of chevaliers waiting for me, and when they opened the documents, they had been altered to show that _I_ had been selling Orlesian royal secrets."

"Oh Maker," Solona breathed, unable to keep herself from commenting. That kind of betrayal was unthinkable. And Solona saw no good reason for it. Surely, even if you were angry with a lover, or an employee, that level of punishment was far beyond the cope of rationality?

"Indeed. When I would not confess, they gave me very compelling reasons to do so. When I continued to maintain my innocence, they turned to torture, and… well. They were not kind."

Silence reigned after that. Leliana finally settled, over at the window, looking out upon the lake. Solona didn't know what to say or do. She was not stupid; she knew what unpleasantness Leliana was alluding to when she said the chevaliers had not been kind. Alistair got up quietly, walking over to her and tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. She visibly tensed, but relaxed after a moment, allowing the man to comfort her in this small way.

Solona scrunched up her brows, confused about something. "Leliana? Perhaps I'm being insensitive, but how did you get out? How did you get from their custody to a tiny Chantry in Lothering?"

Leliana turned to face her, looking first up into Alistair's eyes, then around him to Solona. "Someone helped me escape. I did not know who she was at the time, nor why she helped me. But after some time I was led to a wagon instead of my cell, and was smuggled out. When I went in, it was the beginning of winter. When I came out, the sun was shining and the trees were blooming. I can only assume I was in their custody for somewhere around four months, though I have no way to know for sure. It was certainly cold enough the entire time I was there." She placed a hand on Alistair's arm, giving him a weak smile in thanks, and walked back to her bed, sitting upon it and staring into her lap once more.

Solona got up, stopping Alistair with a hand on his arm. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?" He furrowed his eyebrows in concern while looking at Leliana, but when he looked into back Solona's eyes, he nodded and moved out of the room.

The mage moved to Leliana's bed, sitting on the edge and looking at the bard. She was sitting in a position of shame; there was no way to mistake her posture for anything else. Solona took a risk and reached over, plucking one of Leliana's hands out of her lap and threading their fingers. The bard allowed it, tightening her fingers within Solona's grasp, but keeping her gaze averted.

"Leliana," she tried, seeing if she couldn't coax the woman out. Her blue eyes flicked up to Solona's.

"I had hoped that the specter of you in my dream was not actually you," she said, her voice very quiet. She swallowed, meeting Solona's gaze fully as she elaborated. "I am… incredibly embarrassed by what you witnessed, Solona. I cannot imagine what you think of me."

"Hey," Solona interjected, moving herself fully onto the bed and taking Leliana's other hand. "I don't think less of you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm sorry that I had such trouble rousing you from your fantasy. It… took me a while, to figure out that I was playing a role in your dream, instead of playing the intruder." She searched the bard's eyes, hoping she wasn't treading into territory she should avoid.

Leliana looked away, tried to pull away, but Solona didn't let her. She firmed her grip on the bard's hands and pleaded, "Leliana, please. Look at me." Leliana turned back to face her, tears swimming in her eyes, and before the taller woman knew it, the redhead had surged into her arms, gripping the back of the mage's shirt fiercely as she buried her face in its folds.

Great sobs wracked her body, her cries muffled by the fabric of Solona's tunic. Solona did her best to comfort the woman, wrapping her arms firmly around her, holding as much of the woman as she could. She made comforting noises, encouraging her to let it out, telling her that she didn't need to hold it in any longer. Solona had sobbed much like this after her Harrowing. Jowan had held her while she told him in sobbing gasps about her parents' betrayal; about having the Templars hold her down and forcibly shave her head, not bothering to be gentle; about the pain of the tattoo biting into her face. He had held her like this, wrapping long, comforting arms around her shoulders and accepting her sorrow without any shame. So she knew the importance of having a rock in the storm of one's emotions.

It was several minutes before Leliana began to quiet, sniffling and whimpering lightly, the occasional sob interrupting her breathing, almost like a hiccup. Solona adjusted her hold on the woman, ending up basically cradling the bard in her lap, cooing softly into her hair. It felt incredibly intimate, and Solona wasn't sure she ever wanted to let go. So she didn't, staying put and rocking Leliana in her arms until she was no longer crying at all.

Leliana had relaxed completely into her arms, her head practically resting on the mage's breast. Solona took a chance and kissed the woman's now-dry hair, closing her eyes and breathing in her scent. When she pulled back, Leliana was looking up at her, and Solona was struck by how small, how vulnerable, she looked at that moment.

"Thank you," she said, her voice somewhat hoarse from crying. "I never really got the chance to do that, even though this happened several years ago."

Solona smiled. "I understand. Think nothing of it – I'd have to be completely stupid not to take advantage of the chance to hold such a beautiful woman in my arms," she blurted. She mentally kicked herself for it. _Wrong time, Solona – definitely the wrong time for flirting! No matter that you __**know**__ she's interested!_

Leliana smiled almost bashfully, burying her face back where it had been. "Oh, Maker, I've completely soaked through your tunic!" The bard pulled back, pulling Solona's shirt away from her skin.

Solona just shook her head. "I don't care, Leliana. Just leave it."

She looked back up. "But, I-"

Solona cut her off gently with her lips. Perhaps it was the vague competition she was in with Alistair that prompted her forward, but she couldn't seem help herself – she had Leliana relaxed in her arms, had the woman's tears soaked into her shirt, was surrounded by her scent. It may have been the wrong time, but every cell in her body was screaming at her to kiss this woman, and she was not strong enough to disobey.

In the grand scheme of things, that first kiss was a rather chaste one. But it was still a moment that stretched out into eternity. Leliana's lips were soft, her breath warm; she smelled of peppermint. She kissed Solona back immediately, parting her lips slightly so that the two of them fit together almost perfectly. She exhaled shakily through her nose, blowing more of her heady scent toward the mage.

After a few eternities, Solona pulled away enough to look into Leliana's face. That first image of her, with her eyes closed and her lips barely parted, panting slightly, her head tiled just so, made Solona's heart absolutely melt. Then the woman's eyes opened and her lips curled up in a small smile, and the mage's heart soared into the sky. She felt herself grin, looking into Leliana's eyes as she cradled her close.

Leliana's fingers suddenly curled into the front of her tunic, pulling her closer. As their lips met with more fervor, her tongue darted out, tasting Solona's lips, prompting Solona to open her mouth and allow the bard to deepen the kiss. She groaned when she tasted the woman's tongue in her mouth – she tasted of peppermint, as well some other, nebulous, vaguely sweet taste that she could only describe as _Leliana_. Leliana sucked on her lip, then darted her tongue out once more. Solona caught it, sucking on it lightly, prompting the redhead to whimper slightly.

The sounds and sensations assaulting her were causing a molten heat to begin to gather in the very center of her gut. Accompanying the heat, slick wetness was already beginning to pool between her legs, threatening to spill onto her smallclothes.

Suddenly, Leliana began to move, and Solona pulled back more forcefully than before, panic flaring through her chest as she loosened her grip. Had she done something wrong? Crossed some invisible threshold? Leliana's grip on her tunic only tightened, however, and the bard rearranged herself to be straddling the taller woman's lap, one cream-colored knee poking out from under her dress next to each of Solona's hips. She surged forward once more, her fingers gripping the mage's tunic tightly, pulling her into a searing kiss, Solona's sound of surprise swallowed by the bard's mouth.

Apparently, she had done something very _right_.

Solona wrapped her arms tightly around Leliana's waist, holding her as close as she could, probing tentatively into the bard's mouth with her tongue. Leliana almost growled in response, finally letting go of the mage's tunic in favor of threading her fingers into the short hair at the nape of Solona's neck. The bard settled with one hand grabbing a fistful of hair as the other pulled tightly on Solona's shirt, her body pressed as close as she could get. Solona thought she might melt from the feeling of Leliana sucking on her tongue, and the feeling of her gripping the mage's hips very tightly with her knees. Her arousal, having waned during her brief panic, came back tenfold.

It was several minutes, or possibly several hours – Solona would never know – before there was a lull. Leliana pulled back only slightly, panting, and rested her forehead against Solona's, her hands loosening their hold only a little. Solona couldn't help herself – her face burst into a broad grin as she caught the bard's eyes.

"I have wanted to do that since I first saw you in my aunt's kitchen," Solona admitted, looking up into Leliana's face as she pulled back more fully, holding herself at arm's length from the mage. Solona slipped her hands to rest comfortably on the bard's hips.

"Well, I think our experience yesterday proved that that was not the first time I had thought of it," Leliana replied, flushing a little pinker. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on Solona's shoulder, tucking her arms in between them. "After Marjolaine, I swore off love. I never thought I could even be attracted to another person again, let alone trust them. I promised myself not to open up like that again, to be that open to betrayal."

Solona kissed her hair, cradling her head in the crook of her own neck. "And now?"

She could almost _feel_ the bard's smirk. "I would very much like to get to know _you_ better." She got a little more serious, nuzzling her face into Solona's throat, wrapping her arms around Solona's chest. "I do not know what it is I feel, though I know enough to be certain it is beyond just a physical attraction…"

Solona sat still for a moment. She was pretty sure that was an invitation to clarify what this was, but for the life of her she didn't know the right answer. She suddenly understood why some men found women to be so infuriating; most men were very direct, and most women had learned _not_ to be. She decided to face it head on – she knew that's what _she_ would appreciate if their positions had been reversed.

"I don't know what this is, either, Leliana." She tried to catch the bard's gaze. "But I'd like to find out what it _could_ be. If you're willing."

The bard relaxed dramatically, melting into Solona's arms as she lifted her head. "I am more than willing, Solona."

The kiss that followed was long, slow, sensual; full of soft, malleable lips and slow, lazy movements of her tongue. Clearly, this woman had quite a bit to teach the mage, and Solona was sure she would pay more attention to these lessons than any she had ever had.

* * *

_A/N: So. How did that work for you? We'll be getting to some answers about Solona's magic deal, but I felt like, after that particular dream of Leliana's, they wouldn't continue to dance around each other. And the scene just kind of wrote itself, felt right and all that. But I'd like to hear from you about it anyway._

_Also, possibly last post for a little bit. We'll see. I've got a round of exams coming up, and I need to focus on those, and not this, for the next week or two. But I do have a few chapters pre-prepared, but I like holding them in reserve, in case I decide I need to change as I continue writing, so we'll see what I decide..._


	10. Chapter 9 - Answers

_A/N: Alright, my lovelies. Here you are. I promise we will be getting to some more in-depth answers about Solona's... condition. Eventually. In the next few chapters. But here's some good fluff, and some interaction between Leliana and the two Wardens. Let me know how you like it!_

* * *

Chapter 9

**Answers**

Leliana stepped delicately off the ferry, two somewhat heavier sets of footfalls following her. She bid farewell to the ferryman, who tossed her a jovial wink and cast off from the island.

As she began to walk, a memory from a few days before came unbidden to her mind.

_Leliana's back hit the mattress. _

_"Solona!" She couldn't decide if she was incredulous at how fast the mage wanted to move, or amused by her enthusiasm._

_The mage stopped in her tracks, suspended above the bard. "Too much?"_

_Leliana shook her head, wrapping her arms around the mage's shoulders to pull her close. She delighted at the feel of the larger woman pressed against her, into her, a small moan escaping from her lips involuntarily. Her legs, still at Solona's hips, wrapped around her waist and pulled her tighter. She pressed her hips into the mage's, almost bucking herself up off the bed as she slid her tongue back into the mage's mouth._

_But then, all of a sudden, it was too much. She was being held down and hands were pulling at her dress and she suddenly felt suffocated. She began to push at Solona's shoulders as she tried not to hyperventilate._

_"Leliana?" Solona sat back, her concerned expression quickly transforming into one of shock. "Leliana!"_

_Leliana sat up, gulping down huge breaths, holding both hands to her chest. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to ten, as the Revered Mother at the Chantry in Lothering had suggested when she would wake from nightmares about the chevaliers. Which is what this had been – just like those nightmares, only waking. Which was almost more terrifying. She hadn't had those nightmares in more than a year. She would never have thought that it would come back to haunt her like this during her waking hours._

_But, then, she had not taken a lover since Marjolaine. The last person to touch her body had been her captor._

_"I am… fine," she breathed as she opened her eyes. Solona sat on her knees before her, a look of downright worry on her face. She reminded herself that the person before her was not going to hurt her._

_"That was stupid of me," the mage said, shaking her head. "If I flashed back from getting my hair cut, I can't imagine…" She made a frustrated sound, running her hands through her hair and yanking at it._

_Leliana reached a hand out for the mage's shoulder. "Solona, please." The mage looked up, unknowingly giving Leliana the most puppy-dog of eyes, completely melting the bard's heart. "I am the foolish one. I should have known that I would not be ready."_

_"We don't have to-"_

_Leliana shushed her with a finger over her mouth. "Please, Solona. I am not ready __**yet**__. That does not mean I will __**never**__ be ready. We have only known each other for a matter of weeks."_

_Solona nodded, her eyes large and very serious. "I can wait as long as you wish, as long as you need." She looked down into her lap. "I can't imagine the emotional up-and-down you just went through this afternoon. I'm sorry I decided to kiss you right after you cried your eyes out."_

_Leliana smiled, putting a finger under the mage's chin and turning her so they faced each other once more. "__**I**__ am rather happy that you did. Now, please. Hold me a while; let us just be here. As you say, it has been a rather emotional afternoon, and I think we could both use some simple comfort."_

_She drew the mage into her arms, lying back while guiding the other woman's head to her shoulder. Solona pressed her face into Leliana's neck and her body into the bard's side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling them tightly together._

_"Thank you," she whispered._

_Solona lifted her head enough to look into Leliana's eyes. "For what?"_

_Leliana smiled. "For not turning me away, my Warden."_

_The mage smiled. "I'm not sure I could ever do that, Leliana. I fear you may have already captured my heart."_

A smile came to her lips at the memory of those words. It had been three days since the tension between she and Solona had so spectacularly come to a head. They had stolen whatever moments they could for themselves, which usually resulted in a very long walk – they agreed that they wanted to keep this to themselves, for now, and therefore should not risk Morrigan catching them at it in their shared room – and a lot of heated kissing against the trees in the woods. In between, they had gotten to know each other a little better, speaking of small things, and laughing a lot.

It had been wonderful. She'd only ever had one true lover before: Marjolaine, who had been older than her, and her employer, of a sort. It had left their relationship… unbalanced, to say the least. And in the end, the woman had completely betrayed her. Leliana did not want to make a similar mistake by moving too quickly with Solona. Even when she seduced a target, she was usually the younger one, playing the inexperienced girl taken by the charming nobleman – or noblewoman. Now, _she_ was the experienced – and tainted – one, and she didn't know quite how to handle herself in this new role. Time could only help in that regard.

"You really didn't need to come all the way over here to deliver lunch, Leliana." Alistair had the sack in his hands that she had intended to bring to the mages, who had holed themselves up in the library, looking for information on what might be happening to Solona.

"It is alright, Alistair. The inn has gotten dull, and I did not wish to take my midday meal in the common room with strangers once more. With Sten having disappeared and you and Morrigan braving the Tower, my only company is Zevran, here." Sten had expressed his distaste for staying indoors, for the press of people around him, so he had said he would be in the woods, by himself, and would check in with them in a week.

"You wound me, Lady!" She looked to Zevran, her other companion on the ride over, but he simply winked.

She giggled. "Yes, Zevran, I tire of your endless lechery. Perhaps if you would speak to me of something else, I might not avoid your company, _non_?"

"I see. Well, I shall have to think on this. You are proving to be a most difficult woman to get into my bed."

"I don't understand how you don't find him offensive," Alistair said to her, though he was scowling at Zevran.

Zevran winked again. "I can shift my attention to _you_, if you like?"

Leliana laughed at the immediate look of shock on the Warden's face. "Alistair, I do not find him offensive because he employs the same tactics that I once used to disrupt and disarm. And they work. Look at you."

Zevran's eyebrows crept up. "So you told them?"

Alistair scowled for another moment before a look of comprehension, and then hurt, crossed over his face. "Wait. You told _him_ before you told us?"

"Alas, no," Zevran answered for her. "I figured it out all on my own. In addition to being so handsome, I am also clever. And very good in bed," he added with yet another wink.

Alistair considered the man next to him for a moment. "Does- does that really work? With women?"

Leliana stifled a laugh. Oh, but his innocence was precious. And refreshing.

Zevran nodded before he answered the other man. "Indeed, with women, and with men. Though I admit I am a bit pickier when it comes to which men I will take to my bed. Too many of them think they can throw me around and have their way with me simply because I am an elf and smaller than they are."

Alistair gaped like a fish at this response. Leliana thought she would save him. "You see what it is like for so many women, then."

Zevran's face grew surprisingly serious. "Yes, Leliana, I do." It was quite possibly the first time he had addressed her by name. "I have had too many men try to take advantage of me because of their superior size. It has taught me a great deal about the absolute _shit_ deal most women have gotten as their lot in life. I try to treat the women I choose to spend my time with accordingly, though that hardly makes up for it."

Leliana was completely taken aback. "I- well… Thank you, Zevran."

"No need, Lady. I only wish I could do something to change it on a grander scale."

"Teach your sons and daughters, should you have any, and you will have done your job in that regard," she answered, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder with a smile. They continued on in silence, being escorted to the library by a Templar on the first floor.

Morrigan and Wynne sat at a table with Irving, each poring over a large tome.

"Good day," she greeted, placing the sack Alistair had been carrying on the table before them. "We thought we would bring a meal to you, as the Tower's supplies are still quite meager."

Wynne smiled up to her. "That is very kind, Leliana, dear. Thank you."

Leliana smiled back. "It is no trouble." She looked around. "But where is our fearless Warden?"

Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed at her, but she did not speak. Leliana wondered if the mage knew of her and Solona's tryst?

Irving answered her. "She is taking a break with her beast, entertaining the children while the apprentices see to their studies. You saved quite a few of our number, but they are still recovering from their ordeal, and seeing to the children's education by the senior mages is somewhat impossible until they recover fully."

"I, myself, am surprised to see you up and about, ser. How is it that you are not recovering with them?"

"He _should_ be," Wynne answered, her eyes narrowed at the First Enchanter, even while she smiled at him. "But Solona was his apprentice, and he says he feels obligated to help. He wanted to engage her with spells, but I put my foot down. He is not recovered enough to be wielding magic so."

"I see. Well, I will leave you to your meal and see if I can find Solona, let her know there is a meal waiting."

"Alright, dear. She and the children should be in one of the rooms off the hall." Wynne pointed Leliana in the direction of one of the doors off the library. She thanked her and moved on, listening as both Alistair and Zevran offered their help in the search through the books.

Leliana didn't see anyone when she entered the hallway. She peeked her head into a great room, overturned beds and smashed furniture still adorning most of it. Some bunks had been restored to their original function, however, and been set up along a far wall. From what she remembered, this was the floor where the apprentices normally slept.

Her train of thought was interrupted when a hand clamped down over her mouth, another snaking around her waist and pulling her backward. She was yanked against a body and pulled to the floor, behind a wrecked bunk, unable to make a sound for the hand so tight against her mouth. When she looked up, however, she saw that it was Solona atop whose body she had landed, and she immediately relaxed into the woman's embrace.

Solona winked and moved her head to indicate the far side of the room. A child was checking underneath the bunks on the far wall, finally giving up and moving out of the room after a few minutes. Solona chuckled quietly and let go of Leliana.

"Sorry about that," she whispered. "You were going to give away my cover if I didn't silence you."

Leliana raised a brow. "How could you say that? I was a bard – I am very good at sneaking."

Solona wrapped her arms loosely around Leliana's waist. "I'm sure you are. But it has been a long time. Perhaps you have lost your touch?"

Leliana squawked indignantly, turning in the mage's arms and slapping her lightly on the arm. "You are horrible!"

Solona just chuckled again. "You don't think you've lost your touch?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "I can prove it to you."

She was already straddling the mage's lap – leaning forward and kissing her took little extra effort. Solona hummed in approval, closing her eyes and moving her hands to the bard's hips. A gentle pressure on her shoulders caused the mage to half-lie back against an overturned trunk, Leliana following to keep their lips touching. She sighed into the woman, feeling the mage's long arms wrap around her waist and pull her close, feeling her warm tongue delicately probe against Leliana's lips. Leliana gladly opened her mouth further, allowing the mage to slide her tongue in, delighting at that taste of tea and honey that filled her mouth along with the mage's tongue.

She pulled back after a moment, still pressed quite close to the mage, and opened her eyes. She found Solona looking at her with a smirk, her eyes twinkling in the dim room. She couldn't help it; she started giggling. Solona took that opportunity to dig her fingers into the bard's ribs, causing her to laugh outright, Solona joining her.

"Oh! You are... so… dead…" Leliana gasped, trying desperately to break free and away from those wicked fingers.

"It's not hiding if you give it away, Solona," a small voice announced. Solona stopped immediately, sitting up with Leliana still straddling her lap. Leliana twisted to find the boy from their day saving the Tower standing in the doorway.

"Sorry, Robert. I, uh, got distracted." Leliana stifled a laugh at Solona's response.

"What were you doing?" He had his hands clasped before him, twisting one way and then the other as he stood, eyeing them intently.

"We were, uh…"

"She pulled me to the floor and started tickling me," Leliana answered, saving Solona the trouble, and conveniently leaving out all the kissing.

Robert narrowed his eyes. "It's not nice to hold someone down while you do that, Solona."

"You're right, Robert. I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Leliana was being lifted. She let out a small yelp, unsure of what was going on, before she was set down on her feet. Solona had apparently stood up with the bard in her arms.

"There, all better."

Robert nodded, trotted forward, and touched the mage's hip. "Got you."

"Damn it all…"

"Language, Solona!" She slapped the mage playfully on the arm. "Come. I came over here to bring you lunch. It is waiting in the library."

"Food?!" The mage picked up the boy and placed him on her hip. "You know how I feel about food."

Leliana smirked. "Yes. But Alistair is in there eating right now, so I would hurry, or there might not be anything left."

"You hear that, Robert? Alistair's a big pig and might eat all the food."

"Hey, I heard that!" They had passed into the library, within earshot of Alistair and the others.

"If it makes you feel any better, Alistair, Solona could keep up with you bite for bite, and frequently does," Leliana countered, giving the mage a playful shove. Solona turned a wounded look on her for all of a second before breaking into a grin and trotting the rest of the way to the table.

They ate their meal jovially enough, though Leliana noticed that Morrigan barely touched her own portion, electing to move to the very end of the table so she could continue reading. The tome she read looked familiar, but she couldn't figure out why. The other children were on the far side of the room, being entertained by Max, who seemed to have a boundless energy. Robert trotted off to play with them, explaining that the children had already been fed.

After they had all slowed down some, Alistair asked the question of the hour. "So. Find anything new today?"

"Frustratingly little," Solona said with a sigh.

"That's not true," Irving countered. "We found a great deal on the history surrounding the last of these arcane warriors."

"Yes, yes, but nothing on how it works, how I'm supposed to… _use_ it!" Solona abandoned her food, getting up from the table to begin pacing.

"Hey, there's a name for it! That's more than we knew before we came here," Alistair pointed out. Solona just narrowed her eyes at him and continued with her pacing.

"All of you _saw_ this happen?" Wynne eyes tracked Solona's movements as she spoke.

"Yes," Alistair answered. "We were all there. Zevran here was unlucky enough to be the subject of it."

"He was?" Wynne's head came around to stare at the elf.

Zevran, to his credit, looked only a little uncomfortable. "Yes, I was…"

"Zevran joined our group in an extremely… _unusual_ way," Leliana supplied.

"Oh?" Irving raised an eyebrow. "And how was that?"

"He tried to kill us," Alistair said.

Both senior mages' jaws dropped at that one.

"Oh, he didn't succeed! Obviously…" Alistair's face grew a little flush.

"And it was nothing personal," Zevran qualified, taking a sip from a wineskin. "I was merely hired by this Loghain to take care of the two remaining Wardens."

Wynne spluttered for a moment. "He- he tried to assassinate you, and your solution was to let him _join_ your group?!"

Alistair sighed. "I know. I didn't like it at first, either. But so far, he's been a very good companion to have around. Lots of skills you wouldn't think would be useful, and then suddenly you need someone who can fix the yoke for the donkey with only a dagger. Things like that."

"Plus, if I am with you, Loghain cannot find me and torture me for information on where you are," Zevran supplied, biting off another hunk of bread.

"I suppose…" Wynne still looked dubious.

Irving looked to Leliana. "So this assassination attempt. This is when Solona fell into her spell?"

She nodded. "Yes, ser. She tripped a wire trap, and her body was consumed with fire. But a moment later she was on her feet, and her injuries were mending themselves. She was…" She didn't know how to finish.

"Scary," Alistair cut in. "It was creepy. She was moving faster than I've ever seen her, and her eyes were glowing. She knocked down eight men with some kind of shock wave, caved in someone's skull with just her staff, and then set a man on fire."

"She didn't just set him on fire," Morrigan finally piped up from down the length of the table, not looking up from her book. "She incinerated him in less than five seconds. 'Twas quite incredible, if a tad bit of an overkill."

Solona snorted, then finished the explanation of what happened. "Then I was facing Zevran. He… threw a blade at me, and I caught it. In mid-air; I still don't know how I did that. Then it was flaming and buried in his shoulder."

"Like I said," Alistair chuckled. "Scary."

"I didn't realize my eyes were glowing or anything like that." Solona came to a halt, her eyebrows knitted as she addressed Alistair.

"Yeah, it was really creepy. And you had this vaguely maniacal grin on your face the whole time."

"Do you remember all of it, child?" Irving's face spoke only of concern.

Solona nodded. "I remember everything, Irving. It was… strange. It was a little like being in the Fade. The way my vision – and time – was distorted."

Irving pondered this, asking seemingly insignificant details, getting answers that only furrowed his brows even further. Finally, after several minutes, he seemed to straighten up.

"I will think on this the rest of the day. You should all take a break, get some rest, maybe participate in a little recreation – we've read all there is to read on this subject. Feel free to use the library if you wish. I will be in my study. If you would accompany me, Wynne?" He got up from the table.

"Certainly, Irving. It was a pleasure dining with you all," she turned on them with a pleasant smile. Her brows knit when her gaze landed on Zevran, however.

They retreated to Irving's study immediately.

"I do not think she likes me very much," Zevran commented, draining the wineskin he'd claimed for himself.

"Can you blame her? You _did_ try to kill me. Never mind that I completely kicked your ass," Solona smirked.

"Yes, _señorita_, but only when you were lost in your Arcane Warrior trance. Until you can call it up at will, I am still a more capable fighter than you. I would be happy to help you improve, though."

Solona groaned. "More sparring? Really?"

Leliana interrupted whatever Zevran was going to say in response. "I'm sorry, but when did we decide that this was something we wanted her to do more often?"

Alistair just looked at her blankly, as did Solona. "What do you mean?"

Leliana sighed. "Perhaps I am being overly cautious, but what if it is dangerous? What if it invites…" She couldn't finish it, not here, not in this place where the mages were only ever under suspicion.

Morrigan knew, however, looking up from her tome with narrowed eyes. "You think it will call a demon among us." It was not a question. She got up from her perch and stalked closer. "The Chantry twit thinks that just because it cannot be explained means that it is evil and the work of demons? Color me surprised." The last was said slowly, full of sarcasm and hostility.

Leliana shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to meet either Morrigan's or Solona's gaze. "I just think we should seek to understand it before we decide whether we should encourage it or not."

"Yes, because _you_ are the perfect person to decide what a mage should or should not do with her power. That is certainly what the Chantry has decided. And now, here are all these mages, trapped willingly in this prison because they have been convinced that their power is evil and will call demons to possess them." As she spoke, she stalked closer and closer, finally coming to stand before Leliana, her eyes narrowed, one hand on her staff and the other on her hip.

Leliana continued to stare into her lap in shame. Morrigan was right, of course. Leliana feared the arcane arts, even as she sought to better understand Solona. She just didn't understand all the distinctions that were being made, between this kind of magic and that kind of magic. She'd been instructed that the use of magic invited demonic possession, and the thought of that happening to Solona frightened her beyond measure.

Morrigan suddenly moved away with a huff of disgust, gathering up her book and moving to another table.

Leliana couldn't lift her eyes. She was having the sudden realization that she was no better than the people who sought to imprison the mages. She sought safety from their power, rather than trying to understand it. She felt deeply ashamed.

"Leliana." Solona's voice was soft, not hard and angry like she would have expected. Leliana looked up to find Solona's eyes radiating concern. "Leliana, what is bothering you?"

"I… it is nothing. Morrigan just made me realize something. I… need to go for a walk." She got up. "I will be outside should you need me." She could feel Solona's eyes on her as she left the room, but she didn't beckon her. She needed some time alone, to think, to examine some of these preconceived notions she clearly held.

* * *

She sat at the water's edge, her bare feet lapped gently by the water. She was giving her conversation with Morrigan a lot of thought. And she had just grudgingly admitted that the caustic mage had been correct – ultimately, because she did not understand magic, and feared it, she wanted it locked away from the world.

It hadn't bothered her much before the Tower, because aside from Solona's first trip into Arcane Warrior territory, they hadn't had need of either mage's powers for anything other than starting their evening fires. Which meant that she hadn't seen either mage's powers used in battle. Now, though, she'd seen more of what they could do, what damage they could cause – and the danger demons posed – than she ever thought possible. It frightened her more than anything else had ever frightened her before.

What if a demon possessed Solona? Or Morrigan? There was no surefire way to avoid it – the Chantry had at least taught her _that_ much about magic. That was why mages were kept in the Circle. It was a sheltered environment, where they could learn of their powers, and grow in them, and if someone fell to a demon, they were kept away from the rest of the world, to keep everyone safe.

When she met Solona, and the woman spoke of the injustices done her, Leliana hadn't questioned it. Somehow, possibly because of her distance from it, Solona's plight and the Chantry's teachings were _both_ correct in her mind. It wasn't until she got here that she was forced to somehow reconcile the two. Clearly, she wasn't doing the best job of it. Solona was right to be angry at how she'd been treated by the Circle her entire life, and yet given what she'd seen in the Tower, Leliana could easily see the justification for that treatment. But would Uldred have gone so bad if he hadn't been so desperate to find a way out of his captivity?

"Leliana?"

Her head whipped around to find Alistair only ten feet or so down the shore. That he'd been able to sneak up on her spoke to how distracted she was by her musings.

"Hello, Alistair."

"I thought, maybe…" He shrugged. "You could use some company? Maybe you'd like to insult Morrigan a little bit?"

Leliana let out a soft chuckle, closing her eyes and gathering her knees to her chest. She sighed and shook her head. "She was right, Alistair. I fear I do not understand what is happening to your fellow Warden. It… frightens me." She placed her chin on her knees, closing her eyes so she did not need to look at the pitying look on his face. Damn him, for being so considerate.

"It's a frightening prospect, especially if you haven't spent a lot of time around magic. If you weren't frightened, I'd think you were crazy. Well, crazi_er_. There is that whole _vision_ thing."

Leliana's eyes snapped open, her body unfurling as she turned to him. "What?! She told you?!"

"Oh. Right." He sighed. "Yes, she did. Sorry about that. Neither Morrigan nor I were convinced about your reasons for wanting to join us, so Solona told us what you told her about your vision while you were off bathing that first night." He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head.

Leliana couldn't believe it. She would have told them all about it herself, but Solona had asked her not to say anything. And then she went and told them about it while she was bathing in the river?

"Oh, Maker. Look, I'm sorry. It was fine. Morrigan wrote you off as crazy, and I… well, I grew up in the Chantry. I understand that faith looks different to different people." He walked up to her, squatting in front of her. "I don't know what you saw, but Solona said you described the feeling of the Blight pretty well, and then you saw some kind of vision of hope; and, well, you don't seem insane to _me_, so I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." Leliana looked away, but Alistair's hand caught her cheek, gently turning her to face him. "I'm glad I did, Leliana. Morrigan's just a grumpy witch-thief from the swamp who doesn't know how to hold a conversation without pissing someone off. Ignore her. Please."

Leliana sighed, taking his hand from her face and lowering it gently. "I'm not that upset. Not about you knowing, anyway. I mean, Solona is _so_ going to pay for that, but I'm honestly glad it's out there. I'm upset because, after everything Solona has said, everything she has told me about her time with the Circle, Morrigan's right – I _would_ prefer if she didn't do anything that might invite a demon. And that's not fair to her. Clearly she is quite capable. But in my ignorance of magic, I fear it, just as the Chantry has taught me. And that makes me feel… terrible. And gullible. And also just a little bit like maybe she's not telling the full story about her time here."

Alistair sighed heavily, settling himself on the ground next to her. "She is, and she isn't, if that makes sense."

Leliana's brows knit. "No. It makes no sense at all."

Alistair was quiet a moment, chewing on his lip as he thought. "It's like… she's telling the truth, according to her. She's telling it how she saw it, how she experienced it. But the Chantry, the Templars, wouldn't see her truth. If you were to ask that ass Cullen the truth, his version would be very different from hers. _He_ would tell you about how she ignored his affections in favor of another man here, a mage who she helped escape once she was returned to the Circle. He would tell you all about how she loved that man, cried into his arms because she resented the protection the Circle – and Cullen, by extension – offered her."

"You asked him this?"

Alistair nodded. "I did. I was intrigued by his admission of his love for her, and by how quickly it fled when he got a good look at who she _actually_ is, now that she is not his ward. I found it… interesting, how quickly the stars in his eyes faded when she took charge of things. Unfortunately, I saw that kind of thing a lot when I was training. The Templars, especially the younger men; they… tend to view mages as children that must mind them. It's like they don't see them as capable, because they must be watched in the Tower."

"That's… I don't even know what to think of that."

Alistair shrugged. "It's unfortunate – mages are people. Obviously." He smiled. "Templars are screened for this opinion, and those who take this view don't often make it to the Circle. They're usually sent to be part of the Templar unit assigned to various Chantries around Ferelden, hunting apostates. But sometimes they slip through."

"Why aren't they allowed here?"

"Oh, it's not out of _respect_ for the mages." Alistair seemed almost contemptuous. "No, it's because those Templars who view the mages with that kind of pity tend to be the ones to accidentally father children with them."

"Oh… I see." Leliana still didn't know what to think. It was interesting, certainly, but she was having a hard time figuring why Alistair was sharing all this information with her.

"Anyway, the point is that she's not wrong, but even she doesn't see all of it. She sees a prison that justifies its treatment of mages because of Andraste rising up against the Tevinter mages. In reality, it's justified because of what we saw when we freed the Tower. Imagine that unleashed among the regular citizenry." He captured a blade of grass, pulling it from the ground and toying with it. "The Chantry is so scared of magic. And it trickles down, to make every believer afraid of magic. _I_ was scared of magic until Duncan recruited me. I didn't learn all of the rest of what I just told you – or at least, not in the greater context – until he told me he wanted to recruit at the Circle next. We argued and argued, and along the way, he got me to see the injustice done to people who just happen to be born with an incredible gift." He lifted the blade of grass between his hands and blew through it, making it whistle shrilly.

"So… you think magic is not dangerous?"

"Oh, it's dangerous. But, so am I. And so are you. Not to point fingers – and perhaps this is an insensitive example – but how many lives did you potentially ruin as a bard?"

Leliana furrowed her brows, ready immediately to defend herself. But he cut her off before she could. "My point is that Solona has only ever helped people, and killed Darkspawn abominations, and yet the Templars here _still_ treat her as though she's a bomb waiting to go off, because of all that I just told you. Sure, she's dangerous, but so are we, and we don't receive that kind of treatment. We're allowed to make our own choices. Hell, Zevran gets paid to do the things that make him dangerous. And Loghain is even more dangerous – his political sway is what convinced Uldred to attempt the coup of the Tower. And he's a damned _hero_."

"I… think I see your point." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Alistair. You are a very good friend."

He smiled, putting a hand on her knee in return. "I'm glad I could help, Leliana. Just, don't tell Morrigan anything of what I said. I think her world might just explode if she knew I was on her side."

Leliana chuckled, lowering her hand into her lap and looking over the water. It was incredibly peaceful like this. She suddenly wished to go swimming, but thought that would be incredibly unfair to poor Alistair if she were to begin stripping right here. Maybe tomorrow, if the weather held. She looked up to the sky, noting that it likely would not hold, not with the gathering clouds on the horizon. Well, maybe later that afternoon, then.

"Thank you, Alistair. Shall we go back inside? See what they have gotten up to without us?"

He smiled, standing and dusting off his breeches. "Yes, let's." He held a hand out to help her to her feet, and, after grabbing her shoes, they went back into the Tower in search of their companions.

* * *

"So… what was the deal with you and Morrigan today?"

Solona had asked that earlier, but Leliana had quickly hushed her, promising an explanation later, when they were alone.

Which they now were.

They walked side-by-side in the woods, close enough to the inn that they could be heard should they shout for help, but far enough away to be reasonably sure of some privacy. Their hands were clasped, simply walking slowly, meandering along a goat trail they had walked many times over the last few nights.

The problem was, Leliana still didn't know how to articulate her answer in a way that wouldn't upset the mage. And they were far too new for her to just barrel right through and see what happened on the other side. No, this required a delicacy that she had not used in a very long time.

She decided to approach it by seeming to change the subject. "Did I ever tell you why I wear my hair so much shorter than most women," she asked, knowing full well that she had not – they hadn't exactly done a whole lot of talking of weighty over the last couple of days. It served to divert the directness that Solona tended to bring to the conversation, however.

Solona shook her head, eyes showing her confusion. "No, you haven't…"

"When I was taken captive, the first thing the chevaliers did to me was to cut my hair." She felt Solona's hand grip hers more tightly. "It was so beautiful, Solona. I was so _proud_ of it. I knew that I was a beautiful woman – and I knew how to enhance my beauty to capture the attention of anyone I cared to – but my hair was something that took time. It was a project, and it was oddly one of my greatest weapons, because it was so subtle."

Solona's brow furrowed in that adorable way she had. "How is hair subtle?"

"I am not sure what makes it so alluring, but I suspect that it has something to do with the intimacy of being able to touch it, run it through your fingers, and the closeness that doing so would require. And long hair over bare shoulders calls to mind indecent thoughts, _non_?" She winked at Solona, the mage smiling at her playfulness.

She grew serious once more as she continued, however. "They cut it all off. Oh, Solona, I could swear that it _hurt_ at the time, though I know that it was just my pride. They cut it off in great chunks, letting it fall before my eyes."

An image flashed through her mind, of her beautiful strands – more than two feet long – falling over her face, sticking to cheeks wet with her tears, falling into her open mouth as she sobbed. She was unable to do anything to sweep it away, her hands shackled behind her back as they were. It did not stop her from trying, however. Her struggling had gained her more than one ringing blow to the face.

"They left it like that, all uneven, parts of my scalp showing, some hair as long as a few inches. To shame me. To mar my beauty. I was a vain woman, Solona. They knew what my hair meant to me, what it meant to an Orlesian woman, and they knew just how to unhinge me that first day."

Solona stopped them, turning concerned eyes on the bard. "Leliana, I… I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry." She took the bard's other hand, interlacing their fingers and just standing there, looking down at her with that pitying look. "But… you said there was a reason you wear it short now?"

Leliana nodded, smiling sadly. "Yes. I never want to be that girl again. I was so vain, so stupidly proud of my hair, of my looks. When they took those things away from me, and I still would not sign their confession, they took more things from me. I was denied my clothing, food, even a blanket to sleep with. They would not give me anything to drink, and then torture me by submerging me until just before I drowned. They whipped me, beat me, prodded me with hot irons."

She gulped, not willing to stop now, or she would not be able to get through it. Maker, but she hadn't thought it would be so much more difficult to say these things aloud than it was to think of them. She continued in a whisper

"They… forced themselves on me, as you know. I am marked, Solona, in so many places, in so many ways. I wear my hair short, because I cannot stand to resemble the girl Marjolaine betrayed. I cannot bear to remind myself of her. I am ashamed of her."

"Maker, Leliana…" The mage let go of her hands, drawing her in to an embrace that Leliana was all too glad to accept. She gripped the mage's tunic tightly, willing the tears away.

She continued, voice muffled by the fabric of Solona's shirt. "It was a sister of the Chantry that helped me to escape. She snuck me onto the wagon that was leaving to take her back to her little border Chantry. She nursed me back to health, spread ointments and oils into the scars as they healed, told me stories of the Maker and Andraste. She even had a lute that she lent to me."

She smiled into the mage's tunic, taking a deep breath and turning her head so that her cheek rested just above the mage's breast. Solona was swaying with her, and she enjoyed the slow rocking feeling. "I would play for her – it was the only thing I could possibly offer in repayment. And when I was fully healed, I left her, slipping across the border with the weapons I have now, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a few silvers to my name."

She pulled away, swiping at the few tears that had escaped, looking up into Solona's face with another sad smile. She took the other woman's hands, squeezing them a moment before beginning their walk once more, gently tugging Solona until she walked by her side.

"When I wandered into Lothering I attended a service at their Chantry – I was wistful, and missed the woman in Orlais whose company I spent the better part of six months in. It's funny," she added, thinking back. "I'm not sure I ever learned her full name, just called her 'Sister Rose.' Anyway, I felt a calling in Lothering, a deep need to serve the Maker, to fill the hole left in my heart from my sinful past, and after a day or two of speaking with the Revered Mother, I chose to stay."

She was quiet for a minute or two, wandering aimlessly, hand-in-hand with Solona. The mage was silent. Leliana wondered what she might be thinking, but appreciated the chance to collect her thoughts. After a few more minutes, she continued.

"I'm telling you this because I realized something today." She took a deep breath and soldiered on. "My time at the Chantry was… restorative. The excitement I so craved when I played The Game was replaced by my faith in the Maker. But I also learned all the Chantry had to teach lay people, and I was present at every service. I took the things that were said as fact, and didn't give the things I'd never experienced for myself a lot of thought."

She hesitated before continuing. "I never questioned that the treatment mages receive is anything but fair and just. Why would I ever doubt a place that only ever served the people, performed good deeds? That saved me from myself, from Marjolaine's cruelty? I knew only good men among the Templars there – there was no Gregoir or Cullen among them. And the Revered Mother was my rock, requiring nothing of me and giving me everything in return."

Solona looked at her with a scowl, but said nothing, and made no move to pull away from the bard. Leliana took that as good news, but rushed forward before it could change. "When I heard your story, I considered it separate. It never occurred to me that the same Chantry that had only served the power of good in my life was the same that called for your seclusion from society. I did not realize it, in fact, until we were here. Morrigan's words earlier made me truly realize how much I took the Chantry's words as a matter of course, at least as far as magic is concerned. I was… afraid, that harnessing your gifts would call a demon among us. And I cannot bear the thought of you turning into one of those creatures, Solona. It is not something I can hope to protect you from, and helplessness is not a condition I can suffer easily."

It had taken her a while, but she had arrived at her point, in a way that had at least not sent Solona running from her side immediately. It took all of Leliana's restraint to keep from trying to fill the silence as they walked, letting Solona process everything the bard had said. They continued walking, emerging from the woods some distance from the inn after a time. Solona let go of her hand, leaving her to stand alone, and walked to the water's edge, looking out over the water at the moon. It was peeking out from behind the storm clouds that she saw gathering earlier that day, its light spilling out on the land, appearing almost bright compared to the gloom of the woods.

Suddenly, the mage took a few steps, stooping by a log on the shore and standing with something in her hand. She came to stand before Leliana, who had started to worry about rejection, and presented a handful of tiny white flowers, each center a startling shade of pink.

Leliana cocked her head to the side, a little confused. "Flowers? Thank you? They're very… pretty." She accepted them, still incredibly confused. They were having a serious discussion about her assumptions about magic. Why would she walk away from her, then turn around and give her flowers?

Solona knit her brows. "These… were the flowers your mother used, aren't they?"

"These…" She brought them to her face, her mother's scent exploding around her. For a moment, she saw her mother's face, heard her sweet voice humming as she tucked a very small Leliana into bed. She smiled, almost able to feel the soft warmth of her mother's lips against her cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose. She was always speaking softly in Ferelden to her daughter, telling her to sleep well, and that they would have an adventure together in the morning.

"Andraste's Grace," she sighed, opening her eyes and looking up to the tall, dark woman in front of her. Solona's pure white hair shone brilliantly in the moonlight, her face almost obscured in contrast. Even still, she could detect the smile on the mage's lips, crinkling her eyes and relaxing her brows, which had been knit together for most of their walk.

"So you like them?"

Leliana threw her arms around the mage in response, hugging her fiercely. "They are lovely! Thank you." She felt the mage's arms wrap around her waist, lifting her and spinning her slowly before setting her back on her feet.

"You're welcome, Leliana." She looked up to see Solona smiling. "Thank you for telling me all of that. I can't imagine how painful it is to remember all of that out loud."

Leliana smiled. "It's only fair – you have told me all about your own troubles. I just… wanted you to understand. I am getting there, and I wish to learn more, about you, and about the _incredible_ gift that you wield. But it will take me some time. If you can be patient with me, I am sure I can work through it all."

Solona placed a hand on her cheek. "I already told you that you've captured my heart, Leliana." She bent her head and kissed her hair. "I don't think I quite ever understood until now what it might be like to learn about magic as someone who can't use it. It must seem so strange to you, the things I can do."

Leliana ducked her head. "I admit, it is a little terrifying, to know that the people around me can manipulate the world through just the power of their will. I can see the temptation to try to control it – we do that, as Men, with things we do not understand."

"I never really thought about it. It's just how I am, the natural way for me to be." She felt Solona's finger hook under her chin, a gentle pressure facing them once more. "So perhaps we both have a bit of understanding to gain of the other."

Leliana smiled, watching as Solona's expression mirrored hers. "I'm willing to put in the time and effort if you are."

Solona almost purred her answer. "Oh, Leliana, with you I am willing to take all the time in the world."


	11. Chapter 10 - The Road To Redcliffe

_A/N: My beta is awesome and I love her. There. Just had to say how awesome Diablo Kades is before I go on._

_This is another chapter without a lot of action. But our characters get all growed up with relationship development! Whee! Next chapter there will be some action. But this early on, I tend to think that most of their interactions on the road are going to be pretty important, amirite?_

* * *

Chapter 10

**The Road to Redcliffe**

Solona stalked Alistair around the room, circling and matching him step for step. He held a practice sword only, a matching one in the mage's hand.

With a cry, Solona attacked. Alistair beat it back easily, catching her "blade" with his own, grabbing her wrists with his free hand and sending her stumbling backwards with a shove.

Irving and Wynne had decided that the way to get her to harness the energy she'd found before was to simulate its conditions. Obviously, sparring with wooden weapons and no threat of death was not a true simulation, but it was the best they could do, and there was simply no more reading to be done. So the two days before they had spent the _entirety_ of the morning and afternoon sparring in a dormitory that had been cleared of wreckage. The stone was no fun to fall upon, but it was all they could do on short notice, as it had been raining off and on for the last two days.

Solona attacked again, and again Alistair repulsed her. He had no idea how she was still going. She had to be exhausted. _He_ was tired, and he had more strength and stamina than she did.

He suddenly found himself flung to the ground. He felt his skin crawl with energies, and then Solona was astride his chest, the wooden practice sword held at his throat, a feral grin on her face.

"Give up?"

"Yes, yes!" He narrowed his eyes at her, then broke into a wide grin. "You did it, Solona!"

She blinked. "I… I did?" She seemed to think for a moment, letting the sword drift away from him. He thought about turning the tables, pinning her to the ground, but figured he'd give her this one. The point of the sparring, after all, had been for her to cast a spell without trying.

She focused back on him. "I did!"

"It's great! Now, get off me. No offense, but all your weight on my chest makes it a little hard to breathe."

She smirked, a look of mischief coming over her face before she got up. When he made to get up from the ground, she placed a single booted foot on his shoulder and shoved him back down with a grin

"Dammit, Solona! You are so going to pay for that!"

"Okay. But later. I have to go get Irving and Wynne! And Leliana!" And she was gone, leaving him to get his bruised body up off the floor on his own.

Not five minutes later, they all came back into the room with Solona. They'd grown bored watching the two of them spar, listening to their banter as they did so, and had gone to take a break with their books. Leliana had lasted slightly longer, but she, too, had grown bored, going off to help the dog entertain the children. The last he'd heard, she was telling them the story of Aveline, Knight of Orlais.

"Solona says she had a breakthrough?" Irving seemed almost spry as he bounced into the room. He seemed to be recovering very well from his time as Uldred's captive.

"Yes, she knocked me right on my a- uh, right to the ground, without uttering a word." He didn't usually keep from swearing, but something about Wynne's presence brought out his inner gentleman, and he found himself censoring himself whenever she was around.

"Well? What happened?!" Wynne rounded on the other Warden, exasperated. "What did you do?"

"Honestly?" Solona shrugged. "I got frustrated with him. I pictured him on his ass, felt the energy like it was behind a curtain or something, and channeled it at him. Electricity shot from my fingertips." She scratched her head. "Come to think of it, I'm glad it was only mild frustration. When I knocked Zevran out, I was _pissed_, and I almost killed him."

"Thank the Maker I didn't get you actually _angry_, then. Let's not have you fight Sten anymore, shall we?" She had a tendency to become completely exasperated with the Qunari.

"Actually," Leliana spoke up, pacing around the two of them with a look of interest on her face. "If an emotional reaction is what we need, then perhaps _you_ are the only one she _shouldn't_ be sparring with, Alistair. You are too nice."

"And you aren't?"

"Oh, I can be mean when I want to be." Alistair watched as she eyed the other Warden, suddenly aware that there was something odd present in that look. But he was unable to place it before Wynne spoke up.

"Perhaps she is right. I will think on it. Solona, speak with me a little before you go back across the lake?"

Solona nodded, heading off with her and Irving, leaving Alistair alone with Leliana.

"What was it like," the bard asked, picking up the practice weapons they had both dropped and walking over to him.

"It was… different from last time. It just kind of happened. She was herself the whole time, even when she had me pinned to the floor. No glowing eyes or anything." He took the weapons from her, smiling. "Shall we head for the tavern?"

"Oh, yes, alright. You don't think Solona will mind?"

"I think she'll be questioned until the sun sets, and _then_ she'll come back with Max."

"That is probably true. Yes, okay, _allons-y_."

"Um, that means…?"

Leliana giggled at him. "Let's go."

Alistair felt himself blush, cursing his light skin for making it obvious whenever he did that. "Oh right. Well. Lead on."

* * *

"Warden?"

"Please, Wynne, Alistair is fine."

Wynne graced him with one of her warm smiles. "Alistair, then. I had something to ask of you and your fellow Warden."

"Ask away." Alistair continued packing the cart. A week and some days after they'd freed the Circle, the inn was starting to see trade again, and they had acquired a great many necessities, and even some luxuries: individual tents for everyone but Solona and Leliana (who had chosen to simply keep sharing their larger tent), restocked stores of food, and even some suitable armor and boots for Sten. The donkey would be pulling a heavier load, but nothing more than it could handle. Merchants usually carried twice this much with a single donkey, so Alistair wasn't worried.

"I was hoping to join you on your quest."

Alistair stopped what he was doing, turning to regard the elder mage. She wasn't really _that_ old, he supposed, and she'd held her own in the Tower marvelously. And she seemed to be the only person, aside from maybe Leliana, who didn't hate him the first moment she saw him. Well, and Zevran, but he didn't know what to make of all the elf's flirting. He and Solona were on much friendlier terms now, but when they first met, she was almost _worse_ than Morrigan. He considered Wynne for another moment; her experience in life would certainly add a measure of balance to his and Solona's vast _in_experience.

He shrugged. "Having you around would actually be incredibly useful, with us still not knowing the half of what Solona's capable of."

"That is part of it. But I feel it is my duty to help against the Blight. And given the amount of fire you all are likely to come under, perhaps having a Spirit Healer amongst your ranks wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." She gave him a pointed look.

Alistair chuckled. "That's the truth. I should probably ask Solona first, but I don't see why you can't. Will the Circle let you travel without a Templar contingency?" He remembered that mages did venture outside of the Circle from time to time, but it was generally under Templar scrutiny – including those at Ostagar.

"A Grey Warden may travel with who they like. If you especially, as a Templar initiate, came to speak to Gregoir and Irving with me, there should be no problem whatsoever."

"The only thing is… not to offend, but we do spend a lot of time walking. It's not the most punishing pace, but it wears day after day…"

Wynne smiled again, like she was indulging a child. "No offense taken. I am spryer than I look, young man. I would not ask to come along if I was not sure I could keep up."

Alistair gave her a nod. "All right, well, let me go find Solona, and then we'll go across the lake to get your things."

He found his fellow Warden poring over a book with Morrigan. He wasn't sure how he felt about the mellowing of their relationship. On the one hand, they _should_ get along – both mages, both with a supreme distaste of the Circle. And yet, on the other hand, while the two had been at odds, he had felt marginally safe in the assumption that, if it came down to it, and Morrigan tried to fry his skin from his bones, Solona might at least warn him before standing off to one side and watching. At least the mage was becoming friends with the both of them. It would make choosing sides more difficult, he figured.

Solona was amenable to the idea of Wynne joining them, but Morrigan was not. She loathed being around such a preachy, self-righteous example of the Circle's products, in her words. But, in the end, it was Morrigan who was travelling with the Wardens, and not the other way around, and so, while her opinion was always considered – Alisatir would never admit it, but her opinions weren't _always_ awful – it was the Wardens, and _not_ Morrigan, who chose their companions. And she even begrudgingly agreed that having the elder mage around if Solona were to lapse into her Arcane Warrior _thing_ would be incredibly helpful in figuring out how she'd done it.

So, two hours after she asked him, he and Wynne disembarked the ferry, manned since the freeing of the Tower by the ferryman and _not_ the impertinent Templar from before, making their way up to the giant door of the Tower in a comfortable silence.

Once through the doors to the Tower, he spoke up. "You're sure Gregoir won't cause a fuss?"

Wynne nodded. "Mages are not allowed to travel unaccompanied. The make-up of that accompaniment is not technically specified anywhere, however. And beside that, you trained as a Templar. I am sure that he and Irving will have no problems with it. It is my _duty_ to help you in this quest, in whatever way I am able. If that means keeping you stitched together while you throw yourselves at Darkspawn with abandon, then so be it," she said with a wink.

Alistair chuckled. "Well, luckily, we haven't run into any Darkspawn on the road just yet. Though I suspect that will change soon enough." He paused outside the Knight-Commander's door, taking a deep breath. "All right, let's go in, then, shall we?"

* * *

"No. I will not let yet another mage out of my sights."

Irving sighed. "It is not your choice, Gregoir. You are as familiar with the laws of the Chantry and the Circle as I am. As long as she is a mage in good standing – a Senior Enchanter, no less – and accompanied by others of good faith, she is allowed out of the Circle. These people are of good faith; they cleansed the Tower where you were not able."

Gregoir glared daggers at Irving. Alistair shifted uncomfortably. He was never very good in an outright confrontation like this. He was much better at deflecting it with bad jokes. Which might say just how terrible in an argument he really was.

"Gentlemen, please." Wynne stepped between them, looking up at the Knight-Commander with a forced, tight smile. "Arguing will not solve anything. I asked permission as a courtesy, Gregoir. I could have simply informed you. None of Alistair's companions are enemies of the Circle. They fight to stop a Blight on this land. They are _not_ the enemy here."

"Except the other Warden," he responded acidly.

Wynne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That you see her as an enemy here is the problem. Can you fault her for wanting to be away from you? We take children from their homes and don't let them leave, eventually forcing them into an encounter with a demon. Would _you_ accept that as your fate for the rest of your life?"

"The Order dictates-"

Alistair cut him off, irritation flaring inside of him. "The _Chantry_ dictates that mages must live within the safety of the Circle, and the Order carries out their law. Unless there is a dire need. I dream of the arch demon, Knight-Commander; there is _great_ need." He paused, trying his best not to smile at his ability to pull rank over the Knight-Commander. "The treaties compel the Circle and the Templars to help the Wardens. I _require_ Wynne's presence as a liaison with the Circle, to travel with us as we seek the aid of the others who signed these treaties."

Gregoir's gaze could only be described as murder. He glared for several moments, before spitting "Fine" and turning to sit at his desk, completely ignoring them. Alistair smiled to himself, making sure to get out of that office as quickly as possible.

"Come along, Alistair." Wynne sounded vaguely amused. "You can be smug while I gather the things I plan to take with me." He chuckled as he moved down the hallway with her, listening as she and Irving discussed what she needed.

* * *

"So it'll take about a week to get to Redcliffe?"

"Yes. I mean, we could push harder and get there more quickly, but I don't see a reason why we should make up a day or two by tiring ourselves out. We'll need our energy for the next crisis."

Solona nodded. "We do have quite a bit to do once we're done with the Arl."

"Exactly. So why exhaust ourselves early on? And, well…" Alistair trailed off, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "There's something you should know before we get there."

Solona gave him a sidelong glance. "… What?"

_Dammit, why couldn't this wait until we knew each other a little better?_ "I should probably have told you earlier…"

"Alistair." Solona heaved a sigh. "Stop stalling."

"Right, right, well. Where to start?" He mindlessly adjusted his armor plating. They'd decided, after Zevran's ambush, that wearing their armor, even in the heat of the sun, was probably the safest thing to do, as the whole point of an ambush was that it was a surprise. Even Solona had submitted, wearing the leather armor Leliana had procured for her at the Tower. His helm, however, stayed stowed within easy reach in the cart, behind him with Zevran. There was no way he would be wearing _that_ if he didn't need to.

She smirked. "Well, I already know you're an idiot, so if _that's_ the confession…"

"Right, I brought it up in such a dramatic fashion to tell you I'm an idiot. The secret's out." He rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed that she deflected things with humor just as much as he did, but also glad she wasn't angry. Yet. "Look, I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?"

"You mentioned it in passing. When Ser Jory mentioned he was from Redcliffe, I believe."

_Here goes nothing…_ "Okay. So. The reason he did that was because… well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose."

Solona stopped for a moment, looking at him in shock. He didn't notice at first, walking several paces before realizing she was no longer with him. When he turned to find where she'd gone, she was already walking again. She smirked as he fell in beside her, the shock gone from her expression as abruptly as it had appeared.

"So… you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"

"Oh! Funny! Look, Solona can make a joke!" He mock-glared before letting out a chuckle at her entirely self-satisfied grin.

Her expression became serious after a while. "So, doesn't that make you heir to the throne?"

"Maker's breath, I hope not!" He paused, considering. "I don't think so… you don't think so, do you? I'm a bastard, and nobody even knows about me." He sighed. "I _would_ have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was… inconvenient, a threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked to anyone about it before, come to think of it. Anyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know – I didn't want anyone to know – for as long as possible." He sighed again, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

Solona was quiet for a time. It was a monumental show of self-control for him to not babble to fill the silence. Finally, she spoke. "Does Loghain know?"

Alistair snorted disdainfully. "Why wouldn't he? He was Maric's best friend. I don't know if that means anything, though… I certainly never considered the idea that it might ever be important." He shrugged, shooting her a half-smile. "At any rate, that's what I had to tell you. I thought it was time for you to know about it."

Solona nodded, and they lapsed into silence for a while. He thought that was it, they were done, when Solona asked him another question. "So, why tell me, then? If it was never important to you? If you aren't after the throne?"

Alistair sighed once more. "Because it will probably come up, and I didn't want you walking into Redcliffe not knowing the truth. That would be… more than awkward." He risked a glance at his fellow Warden, watching her nod thoughtfully. She seemed to be taking it all in stride, but he still felt compelled to clarify something. "I have no illusions about my status, however. It's always been made very clear to me that I'm a commoner, and now a Grey Warden, and in no way in line for the throne. And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he _is_ Cailan's uncle… and more importantly, very popular with the people."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "So, there you have it. Can we just move on? I can pretend you think I'm just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Wardens." An image came unbidden to his mind of Duncan, the last warm face he saw before the Wardens' demise, and he had to fight the prickling sensation behind his eyes.

A sly smile crossed her face, instantly making Alistair suspicious. "Very well… my prince."

"I… Hey!" Solona laughed, and Alistair reached out to cuff her on the arm. Only, she danced out of the way, and without giving it a lot of thought, he was giving chase, startling Leliana and Wynne out of a rather involved conversation as Solona ducked between the two of them.

Solona grabbed Leliana at each shoulder, a huge grin on her face, using the bard to block Alistair's attempts to get at her.

Leliana cursed in Orlesian, finishing with, "What in the Maker's holy name are you two _doing_?" He imagined her expression was quite stern as she looked up into Solona's face. But Solona was not looking down at her human shield; she was too busy grinning and laughing at Alistair over the bard's shoulder.

"Alistair confessed that he's King Maric's son, and I'm showing him that I don't think any less of him for it! It's not my fault he doesn't appreciate it!" Solona ducked behind Leliana's shoulder, turning the bard to stay in front of her as Alistair tried to move around her. "Why, what does it look like we're doing?"

Wynne's voice sounded amused as she answered. "It looks like you two are acting like children."

"I think we are all overlooking the important thing here," Solona countered, giving up her hold on Leliana and taking a step backward. "Alistair asked me to start calling him 'His Royal Highness!' "

"That's it, you are gonna get it _so_ hard, Solona," Alistair yelled, lunging around Leliana for the mage as she skipped back with a laugh, turning and running off with more speed than he could possibly hope to maintain, decked out in heavy plate armor as he was. He finally gave up, falling back to walk with Wynne and Leliana, both wearing expressions that conveyed both their amusement and exasperation.

"So… King Maric's son?" Leliana raised an eyebrow.

Alistair sighed resignedly before launching into the whole story again.

* * *

He awoke to something gently nudging him. When he opened his eyes, the dog was looming over him, chuffing softly.

"Alright, alright, I'm up. I guess Solona didn't want to come into my tent?"

The dog chuffed again, in affirmation, turning and leaving, giving him his privacy. He stretched, yawning. He hated the middle night shift, as most did. It was difficult to break up your sleep like that. At least he had a good conversationalist with him tonight, though – Leliana had drawn the watch with him.

He had been upset at first, when she turned him down before he ever even made a move. But it didn't take him long to be grateful to her for nipping that in the bud. She wasn't interested, didn't want to lead him on, and he was able to move on before his feelings could get away from him. Now, he could just enjoy her as a friend. Perhaps this was better – he knew how to be a friend. He would be completely out of his element as a lover.

Stepping out of his tent – these tents were a huge improvement over sleeping under the stars, in his opinion – he found Max sitting with his head cocked to the side while staring at the girls' tent. He heard a few giggles emanating from it, but didn't think much of it, moving toward the woods to relieve himself before grabbing his weapons.

When he came back to the camp, Leliana had still not yet emerged from her tent, and Max was still staring at it, whining softly.

"They kick you out, boy?" The dog looked up at him, leaning into his hip as he came to stand next to the dog, patting his head and scratching behind his ear. "Girls _do_ need their privacy, boy." He was about to move away to grab his weapons and shield, when he heard something peculiar.

Leliana's lilting accent whispered, "How am I supposed to get up and out of this tent when you wake me up like _that_?"

A lower-pitched voice responded with a chuckle, saying, "I don't know. But you're on watch. Go."

What was that all about? How did Solona wake Leliana up? What was with all the giggling? And the humming and… was that moaning? They weren't being loud, but it was easy to hear when the only other sound was the crackling of the fire. Were they… kissing? Is that what Leliana meant when she said she wasn't after a man? He'd heard things about that kind of thing, of course, but he was suddenly very aware of how sheltered his upbringing in the Chantry was.

A few more seconds of giggling, and then Leliana finally emerged.

Catching Alistair staring.

_Balls_.

She froze just outside the tent, a guilty look on her face that Alistair was sure matched the one on his face. He recovered quickly, though, waving a silent greeting, smiling nervously, and moving to get his weapons from just inside his tent. He couldn't help thinking, as he moved to join her on the far side of the fire, away from all the tents, that this was going to be an awkward watch.

"Sleep well," he asked, hoping to break the last few minutes of quiet.

"Yes, very well, thank you," she replied, lapsing into silence again.

_Dammit. This is what I get for being nosy_.

"So… Is-"

She cut him off, which was good, because he wasn't even sure what he was going to ask. "If you are the illegitimate brother of the king, does that not still make you a better choice for the throne than the Teyrn?"

_The one time I'd rather talk about this than what I'm thinking about_. "I hope not. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't want to see Loghain on the throne, either. But Eamon is the best candidate. He's a good man, he knows how to rule, and his claim isn't tainted in any way by the circumstances of his birth. No," he shook his head for emphasis, "he's the far better candidate than I am."

"Perhaps… but you may not have a say in the matter, Alistair. Sometimes duty trumps all, yes?"

He sighed, drawing a dagger so he could draw aimlessly in the dirt next to him. The rain had softened it, but the last few days of sunshine had dried the mud, leaving it the ideal consistency for gardening, were he so inclined.

"Trust me," he countered, "this country does not want a bastard on the throne. Eamon is capable, and he is the far better candidate."

"I'll drop it if you like. I'm sorry it keeps coming up. I imagine that this is part of why you kept it to yourself for so long." She shifted, crossing her legs and leaning against the log behind them.

After a few minutes of silence, he started feeling drowsy, so he got up. "I'm going to do a circuit of camp, wake myself up a little. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

"Alright. I will see you in a little while," she said with a smile. He was struck once more by how beautiful she was, possibly more so with her hair slightly disheveled from sleep.

He smiled back and moved off toward the treeline.

* * *

"Solona, you did it again. Stop shocking me!"

"But it's fun! And it's so easy! And it's the one thing I can do without having to get really annoyed first! _And_ you can't anticipate it!"

She _had_ managed to duplicate her feat in the Tower every night during her sparring. Every single member of their party had been zapped repeatedly, Solona delighting in being able to access that power in even a small way, incorporating it into her fighting style immediately.

Unfortunately, it meant that they all received many small jolts of electricity, and it got old very quickly.

Alistair frowned. "Well, it's getting _me_ annoyed! So stop it!"

She just grinned in response, holding out her practice sword in an invitation for him to attack her.

"You know," called Zevran, "you two should start to talk strategy. I imagine we'll eventually run into bandits or Darkspawn or something equally as unappealing, and from what I saw when we met, you have very little training in it."

Solona's sword came up and blocked Alistair's, a zap of electricity jumping from her free hand to his chest. He was knocked back to the ground a moment later, his head still buzzing from the shock.

"Sorry! I was trying to do something else!"

He growled in frustration. "Well, I'm done being your test subject! Go fight Zevran or something." He got up with a grunt and stalked toward his tent, intent on washing away the sweat and grime of the day in the river they had camped near.

"I really am sorry, Alistair," came Solona's voice, touched with a hint of reproach.

He sighed as he looked back to her. "I know. I'm just tired. I'll see you on watch later, yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah, okay." And she turned to speak with Zevran.

He'd gotten used to bathing in the woods months before, but still looked forward to a hot bath once they were at Castle Redcliffe. Getting clean for its own sake felt wonderful, though, and he took a few more moments than were strictly necessary to swim around in the clear water.

He walked back to camp in just his towel, his clothes over his arm so he could hang them out to dry. He tried to wash them at least every few days, hanging them outside with his armor to dry overnight. He only had one other set of travel clothes, and washing them everyday just wasn't feasible. _Bathing_ everyday wasn't even always something they could manage. Hopefully he'd be able to get some extra clothing in Redcliffe, in addition to augmenting their food stores – hard cheese and wild game got old after a while.

He was about to pop into his tent when he heard Morrigan's voice rise in frustration.

"Solona! Look at what your _fool_ dog placed in my pack!"

He stood up and saw Solona looking over from her place by Zevran. When he panned around, he saw that the only person not looking to Morrigan was Sten, who had made it abundantly clear that he could not care less about the majority of the conversations in camp.

"Looks like a hare, Morrigan." If he wasn't mistaken, his fellow Warden had a half-smile on her face.

"A _putrid, half-eaten_ hare is not something a woman wants to find in her unmentionables!" Morrigan stalked closer and closer to Solona, hare in-hand, eyes on the dog lying on his back at Solona's feet.

"Aw, it's the thought that counts," Solona replied, now fully grinning. "He just wants to make sure you have enough to eat! He means well."

Morrigan came to stand before them. Alistair could only imagine what the look on her face was. "The dirty mongrel can have this back." She tossed it in front of the dog. "There! And tell him to not do it again!"

Solona smiled amusedly at Morrigan, then looked down to the dog. "Don't do it again, boy. She's not going to let you in her tent, no matter what you give her. Besides, you're a war dog, not a nursemaid."

The dog just whined up at Morrigan.

"I don't want it! You worthless fur-bag!"

He just whined again, looking to Solona for support.

"He's too smart for his own good," Solona chuckled with a shake of her head, looking down at Max with a fond smile.

"He is _certainly_ manipulative, I can tell." She turned to walk back to her tent, then stopped and turned back to address her fellow mage once more. "I do it, too."

Alistair barked out a laugh, along with Leliana, who sat at the fire, stirring their dinner in the pot he had filled with water for her earlier.

"You seem to be in a better mood," Leliana remarked as he joined her by the fire a few minutes later.

"What can I say?" He sat on the log next to her. "Seeing Morrigan so ruffled just warms my heart right up. Almost lets me forget that Solona keeps throwing miniature lightning at us."

"Yes, it is growing old, isn't it? Still, it is progress, and she gains more control each time." Leliana placed the lid on the pot, holding the spoon out for Alistair to taste, which he did, gladly. "Still not a breakthrough like it was the first time, though."

"Well, the last time took her body being consumed in flame. I know _I'm_ capable of far more strength and speed than normal when I think a sword is about to skewer me. Perhaps this is a magical manifestation of that kind of stamina?"

"Like a magical adrenaline rush?" Leliana looked from Alistair to Solona, off away from the fire, still speaking with Zevran. "I had not even thought of it."

"It is a thought," Wynne chimed in from her place trying to read by the fire, some yards away. "Though if that were the case then she should be able to tap into it whenever she is simply tired." Wynne was looking in their direction, but it was clear she was not focusing on either of them. "I imagine battle will come soon enough, and we will just have to stay flexible, and see what happens next. That she can experiment with it at all is indeed improvement, however." She closed her book and finally focused on Alistair with a thoughtful smile. "Perhaps the next time it happens, she will have a greater degree of control."

* * *

"You are too eager. You must exercise patience."

"Right. Patience."

Alistair ran forward once more, only to be repulsed by an immovable Sten.

"Are you not listening?"

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck before getting up off the ground. "Honestly? I'm not really sure what you mean. When you and Leliana fight, it seems to be as quick as lightning. In fact, that seems to be her strategy – knock you down before you can react."

"This is true," the grey-skinned mountain replied. "However, you are not her. Your strategy must be different."

"What do you mean, I'm not her? I mean, I know I'm not, but I don't know what you mean by it."

"You are not able to be as quick as she. But you have more power, even as you have less speed. You need to use them in combination, or you will never be able to take down a larger opponent."

"But… how?"

"You will not be able to move in a way I cannot anticipate, the way the other does. You must find other weaknesses and exploit them with your strength and your size. The weakness she found is that I am slower than she. That is a weakness _you_ cannot exploit."

Alistair frowned, but nodded. "I understand what you mean, but how am I to find these weaknesses?"

"By trying different approaches when we spar," the Qunari rumbled in response.

"… I thought I was."

"You were not." Sten was not the most helpful of companions, answering every question with the minimum number of words required.

"Right. Well. I guess we can only keep trying?"

Sten grunted his agreement, then surprised Alistair by taking offense for once. Alistair jumped back in surprise, falling back on his rump. He quickly rolled away as the Qunari's mass closed on him, threatening to squash him under giant boots. When he came to a stop, Sten's ankle was right in front of his face, and before he had a chance to think about it, he bowed his body on the ground and kicked upward, connecting with the side of Sten's knee. He heard a sickening _pop_, Sten staggering to the side of his uninjured leg.

Alistair smiled in satisfaction, having finally brought the big warrior down, when he was suddenly lifted and thrown, landing so heavily that the wind was knocked from him. His vision swam for several moments, and when it cleared he could see Wynne healing Sten's ruined knee.

A chuckle brought his attention back to his own position, and he found three laughing faces floating above him – Solona, Leliana, and Zevran.

Leliana sing-songed her lesson for the day: "You should really have an escape plan if you're going to irritate something so much bigger than you, Alistair."

He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the grass to be rid of her smugly superior smile. And giggle._ Must women always giggle?_

He groaned once more, because usually he liked it when women giggled.

_Maybe I really __**should**__ just start sleeping in the grass. It's quite comfy, and I seem to end up lying in it every night anyway… Plus, then I won't have to see the others' faces anymore._

Eventually, he made it to his tent, promptly falling asleep until someone awoke him for his watch.

* * *

"I have a proposition, if you'll hear it, Wynne."

"Yes, Solona?"

They all sat around the fire, eating the exquisite stew Wynne had put together. It had rabbit, and various roots harvested throughout the day, and even some herbs she'd brought along from the Tower. And to top it all off? Strawberries on the side. Wild strawberries, found by the greedy dog, who Alistair had found guzzling them right off the vines before the warrior scolded him. Even Morrigan had helped harvest them, with only a minimum of fuss.

They _had_ traded insults back and forth, though.

"Seeing as Alistair and Sten frequently try to poison us with their cooking, I venture that you take their shifts at the cookpot, and they take _your_ shifts cleaning."

"Hey!" Alistair didn't actually mind. Wynne's cooking was much better than both of theirs, it was true; he tended to boil things until they were a uniform grey (Fine Ferelden Dining, he'd told Leliana), and he was pretty sure that Sten would eat his meat raw if left to his own devices. He'd asked the warrior about it, actually. He'd gotten the answer that "Sten do not prepare meals," whatever that meant.

"Certainly you cannot be offended when she speaks the truth? Dimwitted toad…" Morrigan's insults had become lackluster, of late. He decided to bait her, just to liven things up.

"Why do you always go on about how stupid I am?" He turned on Solona with a wink – a wink that Morrigan conveniently couldn't see. "I'm not stupid, am I?"

Solona stifled a laugh as Morrigan answered him with a roll of her eyes. "If you need to ask the question…"

He winked again, then turned back to the witch. "Because it hurts my manly feelings you know." His voice was a little higher than normal, and he tried to make it sound like he might cry – and it was all obviously fake, but Morrigan was responding beautifully. "All one of them." He dropped his voice low, dousing it in sarcasm.

Morrigan's eyes found his, and if he wasn't mistaken, he saw the corners of her mouth flick up momentarily in what _could_ have been a smile. "Then I'll be sure to write you an apology once all of this is over."

He perked up, enjoying the sarcastic banter for once. Say what you will about her – she was incredibly fun to see with her hackles up. He just had to _get_ them up. "I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history. They don't make stupid Templars."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, but he could still swear she was slightly amused. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking? "Then I must have been mistaken. I'm _very_ impressed." Her voice was all singsong-sarcasm.

He looked away, sighing theatrically. "No you're not. You don't even listen to me."

"My. You _are_ smarter than you look after all. Your Chantry must have been very proud."

That did it; Solona snickered, followed by Leliana and Zevran. Wynne smiled to herself as she served some stew for Sten, who was a late arrival to dinner. After a few good laughs, a silence settled on the group for a little while. Alistair found himself thinking about his Chantry education, and how one-sided it was, especially once his Templar training was underway.

_Speaking of stupid…_

"Hey! I've thought of something I know that you don't!"

This drew Morrigan's attention once more. "Are you talking to me?"

"That's right. You think you're so smart? I've got an academic question that I bet you won't be able to answer."

"Oh, I doubt that," Morrigan replied with an eye roll, falling right into Alistair's trap.

"So tell me, then, what was the name of Andraste's husband?"

Morrigan stared at him appraisingly. "This is a religious question, not an academic one."

Alistair grinned. "You're joking, right? A five-year-old could answer than question. Do you not know more than a child?"

Morrigan stood, all amusement gone from her features. "I care nothing for your religion, and this game of yours is over." She began to stalk off. Clearly, she couldn't take a joke to save her life.

"Oh ho ho," he called at her retreating form. "How the mighty have crumbled!"

"You did that just to drive her away, Alistair," Leliana scolded, but when he looked to her, she was smiling and her eyes were dancing in amusement.

He shrugged. "Serves her right for being such a shrew all the time. It's not my fault she can't take a joke."

"She does seem to delight in abusing _you_ specifically," Wynne noted, watching as Sten walked away from the fire to eat his meal away from the rest of them.

"Hey, before she and Solona started making friends, she was just as mean to her."

"Leave me out of this, Alistair. We were rebuking _you_," Solona said, eyes narrowed, but a smile on her lips.

She sat on the ground next to Leliana. The two had grown… very close. And given what he'd overheard from their tent the other night, they were probably closer than just friends. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, really. He still liked Leliana, thought she was beautiful, and funny, and enjoyed her company – especially when she was physically close to him. But if she didn't want anything more than friendship from him, he wasn't going to push it.

It was just… odd, to think of the two of them together. A relationship like that wasn't completely unheard of – hell, he'd grown up sheltered in the Chantry and _he_ was at least loosely familiar with the concept, if a bit fuzzy on the details of how it worked – not that he was familiar with all the details of how sex would work for _him_. He just never thought he'd be… _seeing_ it happen. _Well, not __**seeing**__ it exactly. Though I suppose I wouldn't mind- no, stop that._

He smiled in response to Solona and put up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. You're right. I'm sorry I provoked her."

"_You're_ the one who has watch with her tonight, Alistair, not us," Leliana pointed out.

He groaned. _I forgot about that_. Leliana giggled, Solona snorted, and Max chuffed at Wynne for another scrap of food.

"There's no more, boy," she answered him, and he whined before skulking off to find something else to eat.

"I'll take that," Alistair offered, getting up and starting to gather everyone's dishes inside the pot. Manual labor seemed to be his strong suit, but he didn't really mind. He'd sooner eat Wynne's cooking rather than his own any day.

* * *

_A/N: I swear, one day Alistair will catch a break. I promise. In the meantime, let me know what you think, your thoughts are greatly appreciated!_


	12. Chapter 11 - Redcliffe

_A/N: And here, we have Redcliffe. We have some things happening here that are definitely not canon. So let me know how that works for you._

_A big thanks to Diablo Kades, once more, for the day of back and forth on getting the reunion scene just right!_

* * *

Chapter 11

**Redcliffe**

"It's odd, how quiet the castle looks from here. You would think there was nobody inside at all." Teagan turned around to face the party, focusing on the two Wardens. "But I shouldn't delay things further. I had a plan… to enter the castle after the village was secure."

She heard Morrigan groan, and she couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. _He makes it sound like all we had to do was batten down the hatches._ Solona tried not to smirk at the thought. Truth be told, it was terrible, securing the village. She had watched Alistair's face fall with each passing moment when they first arrived. She imagined it wasn't unlike when she had set eyes on the destruction at the Tower – except he'd never wanted to leave in the first place, so there was not even a tiny amount of perverse pleasure at the sight for him.

They had survived the night, with more than a few injuries. Zevran was hurt worst of all, with Wynne so exhausted from healing the militia through the night that she could only perform enough magic on him to ensure he wouldn't bleed to death before she collapsed on a cot provided for her and fallen straight to sleep. From his cot, Zevran had promised to keep an eye on the older mage for them.

The mage and the elf seemed to get along well enough, even with his persistent discussion of her bosom, and Solona was glad that he had volunteered to keep an eye on her, and make sure she did not overexert herself once she awoke. Solona had experienced that kind of exhaustion before – when she had almost killed the elf. It had put her down for the rest of the day, and she was quite young. She feared Wynne would push herself too far if left unattended.

"There is a secret passage here," the Bann continued, "in the mill, accessible only to my family."

Solona raised one white brow. "Why didn't you mention this before?" They could have snuck someone in to do reconnaissance, if nothing else.

His expression hardened. "I knew you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village… and we needed warriors. I'm sorry if-"

"You would risk our lives to save these _sheep_," Morrigan asked incredulously from behind the Wardens. "We fight the _Blight_, fool. You-"

"That's enough, Morrigan," Alistair snarled through his teeth, shooting her a nasty glare. "We wouldn't have done that, Teagan," he continued. "We might have-"

"Maker's Breath!" Teagan cut him off, gesturing behind them with a look of shock to match his exclamation.

They all turned to see a woman running toward them, a soldier at her heels. "Teagan," she exclaimed, coming to a halt before him, acting as though he were the only one there. "Thank the Maker you yet live!" Her voice was colored with the melodic accent of Orlais, though Solona immediately decided that Leliana's accent was prettier. Her hair was auburn, though lighter than Leliana's, and pulled into an elegant bun, a few strands of hair left free to frame her face. She was a handsome woman, not young, but not yet old.

She would be stunningly beautiful were her face not marred by such fear.

"Isolde! You're alive!" Teagan crossed the space between them and embraced her tightly. "How did you…? What has happened?!"

"That's Eamon's wife, Isolde," Alistair leaned over and whispered to her. Leliana let out a soft "ah" of understanding, and Solona gave him a single nod. Morrigan clucked her tongue.

The woman answered him. "I do not have much time to explain. I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And… you must come with me, Teagan. Alone."

"Uh, excuse me for interrupting, but I can't help but think that that would be a very _bad_ idea," Solona stepped in, making her presence known to the woman who seemed intent on doing the opposite of noticing her.

"What?" The woman was immediately indignant as she turned to face the mage. "Who is this… _woman_, Teagan?" Her eyes then slipped to Alistair with a displeased look.

Alistair spoke before Solona could. "You remember me, don't you, Lady Isolde?" He seemed… resigned.

"Alistair. Of all the… why are _you_ here?"

Teagan got her attention with a hand to her shoulder. "They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life."

She seemed taken aback, glancing back at Alistair and then Solona with confusion in her eyes. "Pardon me, I… I would exchange pleasantries, but… considering the circumstances…"

"Why don't you start with what those circumstances are," Solona suggested, unfolding her arms from across her chest, hoping to look less intimidating, knowing her height and severe appearance didn't do a lot to make her look friendly. Hopefully, this woman would have some answers for them, locked in the castle as she had been.

And answers she got. Connor was a mage. Isolde had hired an apostate to teach the boy just enough to hide his powers, so he wouldn't be carted off to the Circle. Only the apostate had actually been hired by someone else, sent to her by Loghain to poison the Arl. Why the Arlessa would trust another noble with that information she'd never know.

Solona tried desperately not to keep glancing over at Alistair's face, keeping herself from comforting him in any way. Comfort could come later, when Isolde and Teagan were no longer around.

In the end, Teagan agreed to go with Isolde, giving them his signet ring so they could sneak into the castle through the passage in the windmill. She prayed the passageway was tall enough for Sten – she did not wish to leave him unattended in a village full of frightened people. Not when his companions there were both incapacitated; they wouldn't be able to do anything to protect him. Plus, he had proven remarkable against the undead the night before, and showed no sign of tiring, once again refusing Wynne's offer of an energy draught before they left to meet with Teagan at the windmill. No, he needed to come with them, even if he was forced to wait at the gate until they opened it for him.

The passageways, as it turned out, were more than large enough for everyone. Morrigan and Alistair both had been quiet since he had snapped at her outside, but Solona wasn't in a position to worry about it at the moment; she was far too busy coaxing a light at the tip of her staff, a tricky spell that had eluded her as often as not. Spells seemed to come to her memory more willingly these days, however, the exact pronunciation no longer difficult to recall, and soon the hall was awash in a soft white light that no torch could ever produce.

She looked down to Max, ever-present at her feet. "Go on ahead, boy. Scout, and let us know what's up there."

Max trotted off, surprisingly silently given that he was a giant, burly war dog.

"Come on," she said to the rest of them, looking from one face to the next. "Let's go save the Arl and his family, shall we?"

* * *

"Hello?" The voice sounded familiar. "Is there someone out there? Who is it?"

_Jowan? Surely it can't be…_

She broke into a run, completely ignoring the undead corpses Morrigan had blasted to smithereens with a fireball just moments before. When she got close enough to see who was on the other side of the bars, she stopped dead and opened her mouth to exclaim – only to be beaten to it.

"By all that's holy… You! I can't believe it!"

She shut her gaping mouth and stared for a moment. "You took the words right out of my mouth," she murmured.

"How… how did you get here?" Jowan was behind heavy iron bars, covered in blood from the explosion of the undead that had been harassing his cell. A severed hand was wedged in the grating, moving inch by agonizing inch until it finally overbalanced and fell to the floor with a sickening _plop_.

"You know each other?" Alistair, having finally caught up, came to a halt just behind his fellow Warden.

"This is Jowan. He is… was my friend," Solona supplied. At this point, she had shared the story of his escape with both Alistair and Leliana, the former while on watch, the latter while lying together after a long session of kissing that had left her trying desperately to distract herself from the burning desire and the seemingly-constant ache between her legs. Talking usually settled that ache, calming the flames, and besides, she wanted to get closer to Leliana. Sharing your life was generally a good way to accomplish that. Trust, loyalty – these were what was required if their relationship was to progress further, which she desperately wanted it to. And not just because she longed to feel the other woman pressed against her naked, though that was certainly part of what she wanted with the bard.

"He is the one you helped escape from the Tower, yes?" Leliana came up on her other side, discreetly offering her hand to the Warden. Solona took it unquestioningly, squeezing it while answering the woman's question with a nod of her head.

Suddenly something clicked as she studied the man. "You… you're the mage Isolde spoke of? The apostate she hired to help her son?"

"Yes." He sounded miserable. "I am a traitor, a would-be assassin, and I have been put in this dungeon to rot. Are you here to finish me off?"

"What?!" She let go of Leliana's hand, moving closer to his prison. "I'm not here to kill you, Jowan!"

Alistair caught her shoulder. "Careful, don't get too close…"

She shook him off, ignoring his warning as she addressed her former friend. "You were poisoning Eamon?" He nodded, looking dejected. "Why, Jowan? You had your freedom – at the cost of two people who _loved_ you. Why would you risk it by doing something so awful?"

"What was freedom without my Lilley?" He turned pleading eyes on her, begging her understanding. "I wanted back in the Circle, but I knew I'd be executed for practicing blood magic. The Templars pursuing me were killed, and Teyrn Loghain's men took me to him. He told me he would fix things in the Circle, allow me back in without execution. He said Eamon was a traitor, and that he needed to be 'deleted from the equation.' So I did it." His shoulders slumped. "I couldn't figure out _how_ he was a threat to Ferelden, but Loghain's a hero! I believed him! And for all I know, the Arl is dead already!"

Solona couldn't think for the red haze behind her eyes. This man who had been her rock for so long just threw his freedom away, freedom _she_ had bought him with the taint in her blood. And for Loghain, no less! Loghain, who betrayed them, killed Duncan and the other Wardens, as well as his liege lord, all because they wanted help from the Orlesian order of Wardens! It was a double betrayal, like twin blades in her heart.

Morrigan finally spoke up, Solona too busy trying to figure out her conflicting feelings of friendship and betrayal to stop her. "You are an ignorant fool! You deserve your fate if you believe something just because someone said it was so!"

"Wait. There are still questions for him to answer." Solona finished crossing the distance between them, wrapping her hands around the bars of his cell door, unmindful of the spattered blood and tissue. "What about Connor? Isolde said he has magic? And she hired you to teach him so he didn't have to go to the Circle?"

He nodded. "Yes. She blames these monstrosities on me, calls me malifecar, but this… _madness_ only started after I was thrown in the dungeon."

"Then… how did the dead become animated," Alistair ventured. Alistair had answered her story about Jowan with sympathy, confirming that she had every right to feel betrayed by the man. Given the way their relationship was shaping out to be, she supposed he might be feeling a brotherly outrage. Thinking of how she would feel were their roles reversed – if she were now suddenly faced with someone who had betrayed Alistair – confirmed it. She would want to punch that person so hard they wouldn't soon forget her face.

Jowan answered Alistair's question hesitantly. "Connor was… frightened, I think. His father lay dying, his mother frantic, and then he found out that I had been poisoning the man. He… as far as I know, he made a pact with a powerful being in the Fade. _It_ is what reanimates the dead. The boy that _was_ Connor is trapped within, the spirit taking control more and more thoroughly."

"How do you know?" Solona reached a hand through the bars, catching his chin in a viselike grip, _making_ him look at her, his shame be damned. "How do you know all this, Jowan?"

"Lady Isolde came down here with her guards to question me," he said with a half-hearted smile. "She revealed all that had been happening. And then I got a glimpse of it, when the boy came down here to mock me. It was no ten-year-old boy that regarded me through those eyes."

"So he is possessed, then," Sten rumbled, pulling his sword from his back. "And the mage who practices blood magic must be destroyed." The giant stepped forward, ready to thrust his blade through the bars.

"Sten, no!" Solona withdrew her hand and turned, placing both hands on his chest and sending that now-familiar little jolt of electricity through her fingertips. It did the trick, and he halted, glaring down at her. "We can't just kill him! He's a son of a bitch, yes, but he was also merely a pawn in Loghain's game!"

He narrowed his eyes. "We cannot keep him alive simply for your sentiment. We cannot set him free. A swift death is the best option."

"No! I want to _help_ fix this!" Jowan suddenly had a lot more energy now that someone was threatening to run him through. "And then I will face my crimes. I promise!"

"What is the promise of a blood mage and a coward who poisons the minds of children and the food of leaders?" Sten addressed the man behind the bar with not a small amount of disapproval and contempt.

"I…" Jowan's eyes went from Sten to Solona. "Please, Solona. I'm your friend. You helped me escape the Circle. I wouldn't betray you! I _promise_ to do what I can to help, and then face whatever trial and punishment that await me."

Solona just stared incredulously, memories coming unbidden.

_"We did it! I can't believe it! Thank you, Solona! We could never have-"_

_Jowan turns as Gregoir marches into the room, Irving at his heels. Solona's heart attempts to jump out her throat. Lilley gasps, jumps out of Jowan's triumphant embrace._

_"This looks bad," Solona murmurs, her bad jokes not leaving her, even in her time of need. They were like an annoying younger sibling. Not that she'd ever been given the chance to __**know**__ her younger siblings._

_"An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I am disappointed, Lilley." Gregoir addresses Irving and Cullen. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then." He turns to look at Irving. "You were right. The initiate has betrayed us." He turns back to Lilley. "The Chantry will not let this go unpunished."_

_His eyes snap to Solona's face, narrowing. "And __**this**__ one. Newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the Circle, even marked as she is." It is incredibly dehumanizing to have him talking about her like she isn't there. Her eyes narrow. Now she is pissed, her heart hammering against her ribs in anger instead of fear. She clenches her fists, ready to knock that smug look off his stupid face._

_But Irving steps in, cutting her feet out from under her with his disappointment. "I am disappointed in you. You could have told me what you knew of this plan and you didn't."_

_"Solona, don't listen to him," Jowan urges before addressing Gregoir. "You don't care for the mages. You just bow to the Chantry's every whim!"_

_It works; Solona's anger, her righteous indignation, flares up again. "He's right! You don't care for the apprenti-"_

_"Enough!" Gregoir silences her with a shout. "As knight-commander of the Templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death! And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aonar."_

_Lilley pales, backs away. "The mages' prison? No! Please, not __**there**__!"_

_And then everything Solona thought to be true crumbles. Jowan screams that he won't let them touch her, pulling a dagger from who knew where and slicing his palm. With no words uttered, he calls the energy from his blood forth, and it is swirling around him, around her and Lilley, and Solona is in such shock that she can do nothing but watch in detached fascination. He lifts his arms suddenly and thrusts them forward, the blood energy around him rushing forward to knock Irving and the Templars to the ground._

_Then Jowan and Lilley are arguing, Lilley is telling Jowan to go, that he betrayed her, lied to her. He pleads for her to come with him, but as the men in the room recover from their daze, he flees, choosing his own safety and leaving the woman he professes to love behind to face his consequences. Solona's hands clench into fists for entirely different reasons from before._

Solona removed her hands from Sten's chest plate and rounded on Jowan. "You also _swore_ you were not a blood mage! How can I trust you? You left Lilley to face punishment for _your_ plan, for _your_ foray into forbidden magic! You left _me_ to be conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and now my blood is tainted. You…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, choking out the last. "You bring nothing but poison and death…"

Alistair stepped forward, gently moving Solona aside so that he could address Jowan himself. "She worked so hard to help get you out, to let you be with your love, and you betrayed her." His voice was low, menacing, threatening. Clearly, she was right, that he was feeling a brotherly protectiveness. Also possibly a bit pissed that Jowan had tried to kill the only other man Alistair had known as Father aside from Duncan. "Then you do _this?!_ You are a bastard. You deserve much more than a swift death."

"Do not kill him," Leliana said suddenly. Her blue eyes were going back and forth between the mage Warden, Alistair, and the mage behind the bars.

"Leliana…" Alistair looked at her warningly, holding Solona gently by her shoulders still.

"No, do not kill him. We know nothing about the poison he used on the Arl, and he will have information about the boy that no one else will have, as he mentored him. We must decide what to do with him later, but we cannot kill him now."

"That is a foolish… Actually, that makes sense..." Dammit if Morrigan didn't look downright surprised at her own admission. There wasn't even a hint of acid in her tone when she corrected herself.

Solona bit back a laugh. She shrugged off Alistair's support with a nod and a smile of thanks, then looked back to Jowan, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"I will leave you alive for now, Jowan – it is not my place to dole out justice. But you are my friend no longer. You are a selfish person, who looks to his own safety before those he professes to love."

Jowan's shoulders slumped again, but he did ask one more question before they left the dungeon. "Solona? Lilley? What happened to her?"

"I…" Solona turned to face him, knowing he could read the sorrow in her eyes. "They sent her away, Jowan. I don't know where. Some other Chantry somewhere."

"At least she's safe. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if they'd executed her over me."

Solona snorted disdainfully. "_Now_ you're worried about that?" She shook her head. "She will likely never trust someone she loves again, because of you, Jowan." She stepped away from his cell. "Don't go anywhere while we're gone."

Alistair let out a quiet snort despite the scowl of anger on his face, hushing himself quickly. Jowan, however, had no energy left for anything, sliding down the wall of his cell until he was sitting on the floor, head hung mournfully.

Solona led the group on, forcing herself not to look back at him.

* * *

"You know," Alistair remarked, "I'm getting really tired of these things." Smoking at his feet was a pile of ash from yet another of those fire-demon creatures. His enchanted blade turned them back well, something it was getting harder and harder for Sten's blade to do – each time it passed through one of the things, it glowed white-hot, and he was worried the steel would become too brittle. It didn't seem to stop him, though; he would just have to get a replacement blade, perhaps from the blacksmith they'd convinced to do work for the village.

"I know what you mean," Solona replied. She was currently allowing electricity to jump from one finger to another, Leliana nearby, watching with fascination. What was it about this one spell that was so easy for her to manipulate? She wasn't drawing on that well of power to do it, but neither did she need to incant. And it didn't remotely tire her out, though she only ever used it on a small scale; a larger bolt might do something to her energy level. It also happened to be completely useless against these elemental beings of fire. She let the electricity stop with a sigh, looking over to the bard.

"How are you holding up?"

Leliana came closer, placing one hand on her shoulder. "I am fine, Solona. We're all fine."

It was true – everyone was doing really well against the monstrosities they were facing. She just wasn't sure _she_ was fine. Not with the demons, not with the idea of a possessed boy causing the dead to rise – and not with leaving Jowan back there in his cell.

"I suppose we had a lot of practice at the Tower," Solona joked, only half-feeling it. She couldn't help the thoughts that were pouring in, fed by her talk with Leliana about how she feared magic, and only reinforced by her confrontation with Jowan. Most of these thoughts had to do with the Circle's captivity being more than justified, given the damage the creatures had wrought. So many innocents dead. And the only one who wasn't bothered by it was the completely amoral Morrigan, which did not make her feel any better.

And yet, would this happen if mages weren't driven to it out of fear of being made tranquil? Fear of the tight collar and leash kept over them by the Chantry?

She shook off her melancholy. "Let's go. That room has to be the main hall. If we haven't run into them yet, then that's where Teagan and the others should be."

They were treated to quite the surprise when they entered the main hall, however. Teagan, performing acrobatic tricks that Solona wasn't even sure she could accomplish with the aid of magic. A quick glance around the room showed her Isolde looking miserable, standing next to a boy of about ten clapping and cheering delightedly at the Bann's antics. _This must be Connor…_

The boy suddenly caught sight of them, Teagan stopping and moving to his side without spoken direction. "So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?"

His voice was a curious mix of a child's high voice, and the low, demanding voice of a demon lord. Underneath it all was a menacing undertone that was almost a growl, one that made all the hair on Solona's body stand on end.

As Isolde answered her son, Solona put out the hand holding her staff, halting Sten, who was beginning to pass her, sword held at the ready. "Come no further," she whispered, not daring to take her eyes from the creature ahead of them. "He is under the demon's thrall."

Sten made a low growl in his throat, but held fast.

"Your talent for pointing out the obvious is dazzling," Morrigan whispered to her, coming to stand at her side. They both knew without speaking that she and Solona were the only ones out of the lot of them equipped to deal with a demon.

"Max." The dog looked up at her instantly. "Protect the mother, and Teagan if you can." He gave a soft chuff and fell back, moving as close as he could along the wall without being noticed.

The demon-boy was continuing. "What is it, Mother?"

"She… is a woman, Connor." Isolde was beyond miserable; she was resigned to this madness. "Like me."

The child scoffed. "Not like you. She is young, firm, pretty." Hearing such things emerge from such a small boy's mouth made her skin crawl, and before she had time to think of the wisdom of what she was doing, she was marching forward.

"I see what you are, creature," she spoke, striding toward them, Morrigan just at her heel. "Begone from this place!"

"The boy is mine! It was a fair deal!" The boy regarded her with nothing but malice.

"And what deal was that, precisely," Morrigan asked, seeming far from frightened.

"His father does not perish. And I have a foothold here. My own kingdom of mortals, to do my bidding!" He paused, stepping forward and narrowing his eyes. "I recognize what you are, Warrior. But your power is untrained; you have only found it once, maybe twice. The humans keep your power caged, denying you your abilities. I can teach you."

Solona stopped where she was, still a couple of yards away. Her heart pounded. How could it know about her power just by looking? Unfortunately, now that she'd stopped moving, it seemed she couldn't start again. His gaze held hers, and she was unable to look away, or even blink. The words of the Litany of Andralla came to mind, but she couldn't seem to voice them. A voice that she tried to ignore whispered in her mind that it was a good offer…

"I see the fear in your eyes, human. You do not know how to wield it." He took a step forward. "Let me teach you."

"Move away, foul creature," Morrigan cried, pulling its attention to her and breaking its spell over Solona. She stumbled, blinked, and then raised her staff before her, trying to call to mind the words to a spell to repulse the creature in front of her.

But it was too late. Where the creature could not seduce, it would take by force. She saw in her mind's eye the thing coming for her, saw it's grin as it chose to have her at its disposal, leaving the boy to crumple before the hearth. She felt its energy try to overtake her, and a fear she'd never known before overcame her, propelling her down a pathway that had not been there a moment before.

The well of power was there again, and she retreated toward it. Only, this time, she could feel the demon pursuing her, glee emanating from it when it understood what was happening, where she was headed. In a fit of desperation, she somehow put on a burst of speed, beating the demon there in enough time to embrace all the power for herself – akin to guzzling it, where she'd only sipped before – propelling her somewhere else.

She did not hear Alistair's cry of confusion; she did not see Isolde go to Connor, Max shadowing her and keeping all except her companions from the pair; she did not see Leliana sprint to her side, calling her name desperately. She knew only light, and Power.

* * *

Morrigan's eyes narrowed as the shift occurred. It took her a moment to discern that the demon had relinquished its hold on the boy, and another moment to determine that it had done so in order to take Solona by force. A demon could do such a thing when it already had a foothold in this world – hence how her mother had planned to overpower _her_. She'd planned on asking Solona about that during a private moment while they were here, but the need to protect the foul villagers and secure the castle had delayed that plan for the moment.

Morrigan began incanting immediately, seeking to produce an exploratory spell on the Warden, but the fool Chantry whore interrupted her.

"Solona!" The redhead knelt by the unconscious form of the mage, calling her name repeatedly.

"She cannot hear you, woman," Morrigan grated through her teeth. "She is in the Fade, battling the demon. Now move aside." She prepared to incant again, and once again she was interrupted.

"What are you doing to her?" Leliana searched her with suspicion in her eyes. Morrigan's own narrowed further in response.

"I am attempting to determine if it is Solona within her body, but you will not let me." Her tone was pure ice, causing the wench to visibly wince. Morrigan drew a small amount of satisfaction from the reaction.

"Leliana, can you please help Isolde?" The fool Templar dropout beckoned the bard from the other side of the room, both of them kneeling next to the unconscious boy. Morrigan was grateful, but she would never admit it. "I can't understand her." _He can't understand her?_ Listening for a moment, Morrigan heard that the woman had fallen into her mother tongue in her panic over her son.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, beginning the spell once more, and was pleasantly surprised when she was allowed to finish it this time around. The spell turned up nothing unusual – Solona was unconscious, true, but that was all. She should awake like normal, if she survived her encounter with the demon in the Fade.

She moved to perform the same spell for the boy, but before she was even at his side he was waking up.

His eyes fluttered open. "M- Mother?"

"Connor!" Isolde quickly devolved back into her incoherent babbling, which, from Leliana's responses to it, weren't Orlesian anymore, either.

Morrigan rolled her eyes again and moved back to the Warden on the floor. She paced around her, examining her. Given the angle at which she'd fallen, with her neck and shoulders twisted as they were, she would be sore when she finally awoke, but they could at least have her moved in the meantime. Assuming the Lady of the castle could pull herself together and have a room prepared.

"So, what happened?" Her eyes snapped to the figure that had just come up alongside her. Alistair stood with his weapons stowed, his helm held at his hip. His sweaty hair was ruffled in a way that Morrigan was surprised to admit served to enhance his appearance. He stood looking down at his fellow Warden, eyebrows knit in concern.

"'Tis simple." She gestured at the heap on the floor. "The demon decided that Solona would make a much better vessel than the inexperienced boy."

"It is as I feared," rumbled Sten, sheathing his own sword as he came to stand on her other side. "Her new power attracts the malicious spirits." Both men towered over her. It made her… uncomfortable. She was not a small woman – she had a good few inches on Leliana, and was of a height with Wynne and Zevran – but she was unused to male company (or any company, for that matter). It was part of why she set up her own camp-away-from-camp every night. Well, that, and to avoid the endless prattle between the others that she was inevitably pulled into if she chose to spend even a small amount of time around the main fire.

Morrigan eyed him. "So you would have her ignore her power, never utilize it?"

"It would be safest."

"You are incorrect," Morrigan stated with authority. "It would be imprudent of her to do so. She must master it. If the power lies dormant, it is still there, still a beacon. If she masters it, she can control it, and fight off those who are drawn to her because of it." Still uncomfortable with their looming forms, she took a step away from them, causing them both to turn to look at her. "It would be _safest_ if she did not possess any magic at all, but that cannot be undone. She was born with it – the only way to rid her of it would be to kill her. And we can hardly afford to do _that_."

"As much as I hate to admit it, she's right, Sten. That's why the Circle exists – to teach mages to be in control."

"The Circle is a cage to contain people who have powers the Chantry fears because they lack the stomach to simply destroy them outright!"

Alistair frowned. "I didn't say the Circle didn't have its problems. I was simply trying to point out that even _they_ agree that control is what is sought, not ignorance."

"That you believe that their intentions are so good and wholesome shows how gullible you truly are. You should see about moving her. I must examine the boy."

She left the two of them arguing about the nature of magic and its proper place, swiftly crossing the distance to Connor once more. She knelt in front of him, completely ignoring the insufferable Orlesians and gripped the boy's chin in her hand, peering into his eyes.

"What is your name, child?"

"Connor." His voice was high and clear, no sign of the undertones that colored it while he was possessed. He peered into her eyes fearfully, wringing his hands in front of him.

"And what is the last thing you remember, Connor?"

"I… Father was sick… And Jowan was being brought to the dungeon." He appeared thoughtful. "Momma put me to bed, and then I woke up here, on the floor." His eyes widened in confusion. "How did I get here? And why are there so many people with swords?" His eyes shifted to Solona, still in a jumble in the middle of the Hall. "Who is that?"

Morrigan released his chin, standing and addressing Isolde and Leliana, not bothering to answer his questions – let someone else play nursemaid. "He is free from the creature's thrall, and has no memory of what has transpired. I suggest not enlightening him on what has happened – he is young, and fragile, and has not yet learned enough control to keep it from happening again."

"I- Thank you," the boy's mother stammered, releasing her hold on Leliana and going to her son, hugging him fiercely.

"Thank you, Lady," said Bann Teagan, now fully in control of himself. "I do not know how we can possibly repay you all."

Morrigan rounded on him. "We are not done yet. We do not yet know Solona's fate, and have no way of knowing when she will wake." She looked toward the other mage. "Or what manner of being we will face when she does."

"Someone should go tell Wynne." The Chantry twit had left the boy and his mother, slipping up next to Morrigan soundlessly as she walked across the hall – one more thing that a Chantry lay sister, even one who had lived a life outside the Chantry, should not be able to do. No, the girl was definitely holding something back…

"Yes, run to the Circle lapdog as soon as something happens that you do not understand. That is _certainly_ the only acceptable thing to do."

"There is no need for such hostility, Morrigan." The hurt in the redhead's eyes was unmistakable, and Morrigan silently gave herself a pat on the back for accomplishing that. The woman was insufferable, and Morrigan was learning that her mother had taught her patience of many things, but not for other people.

"Would being polite rid me of your presence more quickly?"

Leliana's eyes narrowed, and she put on a burst of speed, informing Alistair as she passed him that she would be in the village, retrieving their other party members. At Alistair's word, the mongrel dog that had been nudging her fellow mage's face and whimpering bounded off after the girl. _How did I get so lucky as be rid of them both?_

"Do you know yet where to put her?" She walked up next to Alistair, who was watching Sten lift the other mage over his shoulder. She would have a bruise on her stomach and hips from his armor, no doubt, but there was nothing to be done for it.

"Yes. Isolde is going to lead Sten to a room. You should join me in conference with Teagan. If you don't mind, that is." He still held his helm against his hip, which was jutted out much how a woman might. It looked… strange, and yet, oddly accentuated his form.

She forced herself to look into his eyes. "To what end?"

"Our next step," he answered, his expression grave. "Eamon still lies on his deathbed. We have to at least _try_ to find the Sacred Ashes of Andraste. There is no other option – the mage's poison has no antidote."


	13. Chapter 12 - Back to Redcliffe

_A/N: More of the leaving canon in the breeze here. It's also the longest chapter yet. There's just a lot of important things that happen while they're in Redcliffe, with a lot of POV changes. Plus, there's a lot of development with Solona's powers._

_See the end note for more detail... And big thanks to Diablo Kades!_

_And in case I never said it (I don't think I did) - this world and these characters are all Bioware's. Except Solona. She and her history are my creation._

_Finally. Long chapter is long. Because seriously. More than 9000 words..._

* * *

Chapter 12

**Back to Redcliffe**

A flash of light, and she was in the Fade. The Desire Demon glided toward her like a snake on water, it's form all naked flesh and purple flame. The Power was hers, however, and before the creature could so much as summon a minion, Solona brought her hand in front of her and banished it from existence with a beam of the purest white light.

She stood alone after that, blinking down at her hands. A blink of her eyes turned the light on, cascading forth from her palm and bathing the landscape in its power. Another blink and it was out.

The Power flowed through her. She shot forth another hand, and a bolt of electricity powerful enough to fell a dragon shot out, jumping from the ground to the sky and back down again, the laws of the physical world having no room in this place.

A grin alighted on her lips, and she shot out a hand, this time freezing the ground before her. She openly laughed as she shot out spell after spell, not needing to think of the words, just having to picture what she wanted to happen, what force she wanted to summon. She shot out a fireball, then froze it in mid-air, laughing at the resulting splash of water on the ground before her.

Over and over, different combinations, as strong or as weak as she liked, she performed spell after spell, her energy not flagging in the slightest as she worked her magic. And with the practice, she got better, and faster, and before long, she was running on steps of ice she made for herself as she went, delighting in how good it felt, to have such command over something that had eluded her for so long.

After a time, however, she became still, suddenly aware that embracing the Power so had thrust her from the real world into the Fade, but not knowing how to reverse it. She decided to wander, see if she could figure the problem out. Often, in the Fade, moving your dream self changed the surroundings, revealing the answers you sought. So she walked, for how long she did not know, until she saw a figure in the distance.

* * *

"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see."

Without knowing how, or questioning it – the Fade harbored knowledge in the air like the sea, and one had only to take a sip to take in some of its flavor – she knew it spoke of the Circle's practice of throwing un-tempered apprentices into the fade to face a demon.

"I am not a mage on my Harrowing. I was followed here by a foul demon, bent on stealing my power from me, but I have banished it from this existence. I have already defeated more demons than I ever thought I alone could even encounter."

"Indeed," said the spirit, placing its hand to its chin and stroking. After a time, it straightened. "But you are an Arcane Warrior," it exclaimed finally. She could not see its face, but she could hear its delight. "I have not seen one of your kind in a _very_ long time! Surely you would care to test your mettle in battle against a foe who has not grown fat on the offerings of your Circle?"

Forgetting all about how she needed to leave, and that she had intended to ask this spirit for that information, she nodded her head. "Yes, that does sound like something I would like." And it was. These demons had grown complacent, had not seen a foe like her in a very long time. Banishing that Desire Demon had been like swatting a very fat snail. She longed to test her newfound skill against this foe; this Spirit of Valor.

It gestured behind itself to a rack of weapons. "Choose, and we will begin."

She narrowed her eyes. "Name your terms, first, Spirit."

It chuckled. "A cunning one. Very well. Should you overwhelm me, I will share with you the secret of your newfound Power. You will be able to go back to the mortal realm, and you will find that you can enter the Fade at will, and perhaps even master the art of existing in both places at once."

She arched a brow. "And should I fail?" She would think about the rest of his words later.

"Simple. You will have to find another way out. However I imagine your body withers as we speak."

She took a moment to study her reaction to this. She'd been taught to doubt everything said in the Fade, but this was different, she was sure of it. Demons lied, seduced, offered things for nothing – they were too good to be true. This spirit before her was honest, offering her the information she needed, and requiring only a sparring match in return. There was no attempt to coerce her, no gentle persuasions falling from his lips. No – it had no interest in accompanying her back to the physical world. It wished only to fight a worthy opponent, its offer of aid home equal to its own request of a sparring match.

She nodded. "I accept these terms. But I will use a weapon of my own making," she finished, holding up her hand and watching as a wickedly curved sword sprouted from her palm. In her other hand grew a long dagger, and in another moment, she was backing away from the spirit before her, ready in a combat stance, the two weapons gripped in each hand.

She could feel his smile, even if she could not see it, and the being of yellow light drew the great sword from its back and joined her on the level ground below them, settling into a stance not unlike Sten's.

The battle was joined a moment later as the being before her lunged, aiming to cut her deeply with the tip of the blade. She jumped to the side, twisting and batting the weapon away from her with both of her own. Without waiting to hit the ground first, she launched herself forward, heedless of the impossibility of her action as she rammed her body into the spirit's form.

Warmth and light passed through her on contact, an exhilarating rush of energy and thought. The spirit brushed her away while she was distracted, bringing its blade to bear once more. But she did not care; she was invigorated, laughing for the joy of this encounter.

She attacked first this time, thankful to Sten for the hours she'd spent sparring with him. Knowing this being's reach far surpassed her own, she got close, dropping to the ground, rolling under its blade and kicking at one of its ankles. That didn't bring it to the ground, but it did stumble, and she took the opportunity to thrust up with the dagger, wounding the spirit on the thigh. She spent no time considering what a wound to a spirit really meant, rolling back out of its reach and gaining her feet more quickly than she ever had in the physical world.

The spirit seemed only to delight in her tactics. It let out a loud belly laugh, pointing its blade in her direction. "You are by far the most skilled opponent I have faced with a blade from the mortal world! Come at me once more!"

And attack it she did. Over and over she feinted, opening up little nicks on its forearms and thighs, taking some herself for her trouble. Time lost all meaning, and she lost herself to the methodical rhythm of their dance, lines blurring until all that she perceived were two balls of light dancing around each other. And she somehow was aware of these two balls both as one of them, and as an outside observer.

Never had she been more invigorated.

After a time, the spirit called a halt. "Enough! You have proven your mettle!" The lines of their forms rematerialized, and it stood before her, hand out, weapon held down at his side. "We are evenly matched." It seemed to be panting, which made Solona realize that she, too, panted, even as she grinned. It was an exhilarating experience, interacting so closely with this benevolent spirit.

But she realized that enough time had passed. She needed to move away from here if she was to live on in the physical realm.

It raised a hand, passing it before her, her words not needing to be said, and suddenly the knowledge was there. She bade the spirit a warm farewell, and turned on the spot, leaving the Fade behind.

* * *

Her eyes snapped open to a room of stone. She sat up, taking it all in. Her eyes fell on the window on the far wall, seeing that the sun had set. Then they fell to the fire crackling in the hearth, the wardrobe in the corner, and, finally, a familiar form sleeping at the foot of the bed on which she sat.

She smiled down at the sleeping dog, her eyes wandering back up and falling on her staff and other more mundane weapons in the corner. _The power. It's mine now_. She lifted a hand in front of her, feeling that well of power surge forth within her, no longer hidden, no longer available only with the threat of death. She had taken it all into her, and it was now fused with her, available whenever she liked, as easy to access as it was to draw aside a curtain.

Her vision changed, narrowing in on whatever she focused on, and the mere thought of it produced a perfect crystal of ice in her palm. Her heart pounded furiously as she let out an ecstatic _whoop_, letting her hold on the power fade as she leaped from the bed.

When she looked back to the bed, she found Max just opening his eyes. With another shout of delight, she threw herself forward, embracing the dog in a joyful hug. He awoke immediately, struggling for half a second before relaxing, turning, and covering her face with kisses.

"Dear child! You're awake!"

Solona looked up to see that Wynne had just walked in, likely drawn by the commotion of her and Max. She grinned, launching herself from the bed, picking the older mage up and whisking her in circle in the middle of the room.

"I did it, Wynne! I took the Power, killed the demon, and a Spirit showed me how to manipulate the Fade!"

She put Wynne down, holding her by the shoulders and grinning down at her.

"Slow down, child! You were in the Fade? How did you manage to get there without lyrium?"

"I can't… I can't explain it. I just… _did_. The Power, it's mine now. It was enough to take me there a hundred times over, Wynne!" She took the mage by the hand and pulled, calling the dog to her. "Where are the others? We have to tell them!"

* * *

"I do not think this is a wise course of action."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I _know_, Morrigan. You've said that multiple times." _An hour. For the last several hours._

"And yet you continue to assert that it is the course of action we will be taking."

"We need Eamon _alive_ to lead the strike against Loghain. No one else has the political clout to do it."

"And _you_ have said _that_ multiple times. And _I_ am unconvinced that you are not simply dragging us on some search for the bones of a madwoman so that the man who raised you will not die." She scowled up at him, yellow eyes piercing directly into his soul.

It was true. He didn't want Eamon to die. He had never apologized for how he'd treated the man when they had last seen each other. He had never thanked Eamon for raising him. And even though Eamon had encouraged the silence around the circumstances of his birth, Alistair had nothing but gratitude for the man.

That did not negate the fact that Eamon _was_ incredibly popular, and more able to corral the other nobles into agreeing to a Landsmeet. _Don't forget_, the selfish little voice in the back of his mind called out, _that if he lives, then you don't have to be king_. There was that.

"I think that can be argued of many people here, Lady," Teagan chimed in, gracing Morrigan with a wan smile, his hand resting on Isolde's shoulder. "He is my brother, and the father of my nephew – I want him to live. Be that as it may, it does not take away the fact that he is the one with the power. The people love _him_, follow _him_."

"One with so much power would indeed make a powerful ally…" Morrigan's yellow eyes disappeared under her eyelids for a moment. She appeared to be thinking, but Alistair knew that look, having been its recipient many times. She was alone was in a room full of idiots, and yet they still managed to make a point she couldn't quite dispute. Though, he guessed, she'd be damned before admitting it out loud.

Alistair looked to Leliana, who was standing, frowning, beside Bann Teagan, then turned to address Sten, standing near the wall like a mountain of bluish-grey flesh. "Do you have an opinion?"

"I agree with the witch," he stated simply.

"On which count," Zevran countered, leaving his place by Alistair's side to stand before the Qunari, peering up into his eyes. "That this is a foolish venture, or that the Arl would make a powerful ally?"

The violet eyes snapped to Zevran's face for the briefest of moments, as if weighing what the elf said. Then, "Yes."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Right, well. As helpful as _that _was, I suppose we can't do anything anyway until Solona wakes…"

Wynne's voice sounded from across the room. "Then I suppose we can make a decision right now." He looked up to the great door ahead of him, seeing Solona being led into the room by Wynne, Max trailing behind them.

Before he could make a comment, however, he heard Leliana give a little squeak, then saw a blur of red hair. Then Leliana was being scooped up into Solona's arms, their lips pressed together, and then – Alistair being the gentleman that he was – he saw no more, as he quickly averted his gaze. It did confirm his suspicions about the two women, however, and he was glad everyone else knew, too – he hated having secrets. The Grey Warden secrets were more than enough for him, thank you very much. He didn't need to be keeping the dalliances among his companions secret.

As he felt his face flush in embarrassment, he searched his feelings on the matter. He _wanted_ to be jealous, to be bitter toward Leliana for turning him down in favor of his fellow Warden. But he couldn't seem to make himself. He just couldn't see how that would be fair to either of them, especially when Leliana had been completely honest with him about how she felt. And she was so kind to him.

Solona was kind, as well. At first, she hadn't been, choosing to call him Templar, even though he had never been inducted into their ranks, and berating him for things he'd never personally done. But as he got her to talk more about what had happened to her, and how it made her feel; and as they discussed her magic more and more, its implications for how she would fare against the Darkspawn, how it would eventually be incorporated into her fighting style; and as they continued to get their asses kicked by the tiny woman now in the mage's arms, they had begun to build a rapport, a camaraderie. Hell, she was starting to feel like a sister to him. Certainly, a good friend.

Both of the women were his friends.

And that was the rub: they were his friends. How could he possibly resent either of them for realizing their feelings for each other?

A gentle clearing of the throat caught his attention, and he looked up to see Wynne staring at the two with a frown on her face. They'd stopped kissing, simply standing with arms around each other. He could hear the soft lilt of Leliana's voice speaking into the mage's ear, Solona bent slightly to reach Leliana's upturned face. He knew that none of the words were meant for him to hear, so he wasn't too disappointed that he couldn't understand what she was saying, though he was intensely curious.

With a final, fierce squeeze, they parted, Leliana looking sheepishly to Wynne before attempting to move away from his fellow Warden. Instead of letting them part, Solona followed the bard, paying no heed to Wynne's continued look of disapproval. _She is gonna __**get**__ it later_, he sing-songed to himself, unable to keep the slight smirk from his lips. He couldn't help but smile as he noticed the look Leliana shot back at Solona, the pull of a smile at her lips as she gazed first at their hands, then to Solona, then to the rest of the room, before-

"Voyeur."

His eyes snapped to Morrigan. "Hey! I wasn't… voyeur-ing! Besides, how am I _not_ supposed to look? They were right there!"

"I dare say it is difficult to control your urges. You smell like the dog – it is not too far a leap to imagine you share other traits, as well." Her lips curled up just slightly, showing her amusement at her own joke.

Max let out an indignant huff as he came to sit by the table.

Alistair opened his mouth, a witty retort right on the tip of his tongue, when-

"I think that is quite enough," Wynne snapped, striding over to the table, frowning every few seconds at Solona and Leliana's intertwined hands. Solona, for her part, just looked around with a faint smile on her face.

"What did I miss?"

Alistair snorted. "Well, let's see. You collapsed in the Main Hall after the demon left Connor's body for yours. So, you know. The usual."

Solona immediately adopted a guilty expression. "Sorry to worry everyone." She looked up then, locking eyes with Morrigan. "But it definitely served as the catalyst we were looking for."

Morrigan's cat-like eyes focused, the pupils narrowing to slits. "You found this well of power once more?"

Solona nodded, but Alistair did not miss how her eyes slid to both Teagan and Isolde, standing next to each other at the conference table with expressions of curiosity. "Perhaps we can discuss it later… What were you talking about when I came in?"

"Well," Teagan said, looking curiously as the mage Warden, but Alistair knew that he had not missed that he was not invited to ask what they all meant about her power. "We were discussing your next step in regards to Eamon."

"What are our options?" Solona asked, finally letting go of Leliana's hand in favor of leaning both hands on the table they all stood around.

Teagan grabbed some documents sitting in front of Alistair and passed them across the table to his fellow Warden. "Your… colleague in the dungeon was questioned, but he didn't know what the poison was, and he had administered all of it before he was caught, so it cannot be examined. Isolde had sent the knights out to search for anything on the Urn of Sacred Ashes, as you know. What I forgot to tell you earlier is that they weren't just chasing a rumor or a myth. These documents are copies of some of the notes from a Brother Genetivi of Denerim, who was under Eamon's employ for a few years before returning to Denerim recently. He returned because he needed the Chantry's library there, having found evidence in Eamon's library to the validity of the Urn."

"Remarkable," Solona breathed, eyes focused on the scribbled writing before her for a few minutes, her brows furrowing slightly in that way Alistair felt he'd seen a thousand times already. "He needed to verify a location in Denerim, but he was almost certain that they existed, and had a hunch where they were. Incredible."

"Lunatics are often _sure_ what they see is actually before them," Morrigan said in a low voice, eyes narrowed at her fellow mage. "That does mean their hallucinations are, indeed, standing in front of them."

Alistair rolled his eyes, but a warning glance from Wynne kept his mouth shut tight.

"True," Solona said, setting the documents down and meeting her gaze. "But Eamon is an ally we _must_ have, if at all possible."

"Why? Why cannot this Bann take his throne and lead the armies of Men?"

"Because," Isolde finally stepped in, looking into the witch's eyes defiantly. Alistair was suddenly curious as to who would win in a brawl – the ever-grumpy Morrigan, or the noblewoman who was not used to being questioned. "Eamon is the only one who can possibly sway the nobility to act. Loghain is a hero to Ferelden. Nobody will question him openly unless my husband does so first. You _need_ him to survive if you are to turn away the Blight."

_And there is the true power and confidence behind the throne, as the saying goes._

"She is right." Leliana stepped forward, locking her gaze with Morrigan's – a far cry from the last time a confrontation was forced between the two of them. "Loghain turned away my countrymen, repelled the Orlesian occupation. He is almost untouchable. The only other Ferelden aside from the king and Loghain that was ever discussed in Orlais was Eamon. I always assumed it was because he was charming enough to convince an Orlesian –" she looked to Isolde and smiled "– to live in a country and among a people that most of Orlais considers to be beneath them. But I have spoken with some of the servants as they came back to the castle, and the villagers while I retrieved Wynne and Zevran. His people _love_ him. He is a good, kind man who is in touch with his subjects, as well as his fellow nobles. He has the unique ability to be able to rouse the spirits of both, and that is what will be needed to defeat the Blight upon this land."

Morrigan stared for a moment before letting out a huff of disgust and crossing her arms across her chest. "Very well. You wanted my opinion. I gave it. I shall abide by the Wardens' decision, as foolish as it may be."

"We thank you for your opinion, your Almighty," Alistair began with a sweeping bow, but was quickly cut off by another directive from Wynne to stow it. He decided not to try her patience. But he did _so_ long to wipe that smirk off the witch's face.

"I think Leliana and Lady Isolde are correct," Solona said after a moment. "If it's more than just a myth, it's worth at least going to speak with this Brother."

"I agree," Alistair chimed in immediately.

"Of course," muttered Morrigan, but at a stern look from Wynne, she miraculously held her tongue from anything further.

"So when do we leave," Zevran asked, rubbing his hands together like an eager child.

Leliana eyed him suspiciously. "Why so eager, Zevran?"

He winked, and Alistair just knew it would be some lecherous reason. "There is a most fine brothel in the city that I wish to visit," he responded with a wink. _There it is…_

"Excuse me?" Lady Isolde stared at the elf, her eyebrows almost to her hairline.

"Oh," Solona muttered, shoving the elf on the shoulder. "Really, Zevran. Learn some damn manners."

"You are one to talk, Warden," he countered, looking up at her with a smirk. "Swearing like that, in front of the Arlessa."

"I…" She cut herself off, glaring at him. "You have a point." She turned to the Arlessa. "I beg your pardon, Lady Isolde. None of us is used to company of such stature."

"It is… quite all right," she replied, staring at the both of them as if unsure whether to be offended or amused.

"Well," said Alistair, calling attention to himself. "I suppose we should leave in the morning, then… I think we're done for the moment."

Standing a little taller, Isolde spoke up again. "If you are decided, I have had rooms made ready for all of you. I insist you rest at least a full day before you leave for Denerim. It is nearly a month's time on the road, and you have been through a dreadful undertaking to save my home and my son. I know you have been awake all night and all day – surely you are all beyond exhausted?"

Before Alistair could so much as protest, she had called in servants, and they were all being rather bossily escorted to individual bedchambers.

* * *

Wynne stood in the hallway outside Solona's bedchamber. She was in the midst an internal debate, her hand poised to knock on the door.

_She is being bull-headed, reckless. She does not have the time for romance with a Blight! She cannot possibly have the focus for her magic and her duty to defeat the Darkspawn if she is busy dallying with Leliana._

_And what of Leliana? She is still so bruised from her past. What if Solona does not take this seriously, and injures the woman? She is a sweet girl, opening herself up yet again, after it backfired so spectacularly the last time. What if they both end up hurt?_

She had run through all of her arguments, and was determined to confront Solona about it as soon as she could.

A giggle rose up, pitched high and colored with the soft tones of Leliana's voice. Wynne narrowed her eyes and steeled her resolve, rapping her knuckles against the door.

It opened a moment later, Solona standing in the doorway, Leliana just behind her.

"Wynne? Something wrong?"

"I… wanted to speak with you, Warden." Her eyes moved to Leliana, then back to the younger mage. "In private, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Solona, looked behind her, murmuring something indistinct before following Wynne into the hall, closing the door behind her. "What can I do for you, Wynne?"

She hesitated. Solona clearly had no idea of Wynne's disapproval, and she suddenly realized that if she entered this conversation on the offensive, she would never get through to the woman before her.

Finally, she decided on her tactic. "You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

Solona's skin immediately darkened, taking on a slightly reddish hue. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, we are."

"I admit, I had noticed the way she looks at you, the familiarity with which you speak, how she always finds a way to place herself near you. I had not imagined it was romantic in nature until today, however…" _Irresponsible. Foolish. _

Solona's response was to smile almost wistfully. "She does do that, doesn't she?"

Wynne groaned internally. "It's almost too sweet for my tastes, and I'm an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs."

"Well, you're hardly the average old lady, Wynne. You are formidable. I bet if we sparred you would knock me out before I knew what hit me."

"Yes, well…" She took a deep breath, deciding a more direct approach was in order. "Now that I know the nature of your blossoming relationship, I wanted to know where you thought it was going. Leliana is a remarkable girl, sincere and guileless, and she has opened her heart to you. I would not like to see her hurt." Let Solona think this her main concern here, so as to take her by surprise with her actual point.

Solona looked almost wounded. "I would _never_ hurt her, Wynne. And as far as where it's going, we're taking it one day at a time. Though, I confess that I feel quite deeply for her." Solona frowned. "Why the scrutiny?"

"You are a Grey Warden," Wynne burst, her patience wearing thin. She couldn't decide if the woman before her was being deliberately obtuse, or if she really was so irresponsible as to put these selfish ideals before her duty. "You have responsibilities which supercede your personal desires!"

Solona just frowned more deeply. "I have not forgotten about my responsibilities, Wynne. I can handle them and my relationships."

"Love is ultimately selfish, Solona. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else." Her voice softened, her expression falling some. The realization had hit her that the young woman before her was incredibly naïve in the way the world worked. She'd never experienced romance, never travelled or had friends outside of the Circle. She could afford some sympathy, even though she would urge the Warden away from this relationship, at least until the Blight was over.

"A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. If you continue this relationship, you may be forced to make a choice between saving your love…" She paused, letting that sink in. "And saving everyone else. And then what would you do?"

Solona's frown deepened even more, her arms now crossing over her chest. "And what am I supposed to do, tell Leliana to go away? We're in it now – I can't undo it, not after the things I've seen, the things we know about each other." She paused, her eyes softening, looking into Wynne's eyes almost beseechingly. "She has captured my heart, Wynne. What other course is there to me now that we are here?"

Wynne sighed. "Nothing is certain, Solona, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted. I want you to be aware of these possible consequences."

Solona scowled. "I am old enough to make my own decisions, Wynne. You wanted to travel with us, and I agreed. If you disapprove of something I do, I will listen to your guidance, but it is ultimately _my decision_. Leliana and I will handle the things that come our way."

Wynne frowned, but she had to get a handle on her disappointment and anger. "If you insist. I have given my advice. Do with it what you will."

She turned on the spot and marched to her room, leaving Solona frowning at her retreating form. She only had a few minutes before their conference as a group, and she needed a moment to calm herself.

* * *

Sten stood in the corner of the room, observing all around him. He found it refreshing that the rooms in this large building had room for the horns upon his head – he grew weary of paying attention to where he could stand to his full height. And the doorways here fit him with little trouble.

He took a moment to determine where in the Qun those in this room would fit once the Qunari had brought the Qun to these lands. The large Warden with the shield could possibly be made Sten. He had strength and great skill with his weapons. He even showed aptitude for learning new styles, which would be important, since he would never overpower a Kossith with sheer strength. Because of that lack of power, he may need to be reassigned as craftsman.

The meddlesome elf, who gossiped like a fishwife and could not seem to leave Sten be, would never be allowed to follow the Qun as he was. Most likely, he would be killed, or chased off. Sten did not think it would be a great loss to the Qunari, despite his obvious skill.

The orange-haired one would serve well as a craftswoman, with her swift hands and cunning mind; though he doubted she could be turned away from this Maker they seemed to be obsessed with in this land.

The mages, well, they were _sarebaas_, though of great skill and discipline. He did not know if any of them were attainable, however; far too likely, they had been unleashed for too long, and would not ever submit to an _arvaarad_. Though the one who had seen the most summers might eventually submit to the Qun, with time.

He looked around once more. All of his companions were present except the mage Warden and the orange-headed female. He had been the first here, after being led to his sleeping quarters. He would normally attempt to sleep in the woods, but he would have to travel miles in order to find suitable privacy this close to a settlement of this size. And he knew enough to know he would likely be attacked if found alone without his companions, so he had stripped the bedding – the bed being too small for him, and the mattress liable to be destroyed by his horns – and arranged a suitable sleeping space for himself on the floor, by the firepit.

"What's taking them so long," the male Warden whined, shooting a glance to the elder mage as she completed a circuit of the room.

The elder mage stopped and replied, "I suspect Solona is upset with me. I… spoke to her, about the little display we all witnessed earlier."

"Another way in which she cannot be a woman," Sten grunted. He still didn't understand how she could be both a woman and a warrior.

"What? I don't even… Never mind, Sten. I'll ask you about that later." The yellow-haired man turned back to the elder mage. "You confronted her? You have some problem with them?"

"Yes," the mage responded, standing to her full height defiantly – which was just to his nose. "She is the leader of this group, a Grey Warden who has a strict duty. There is a Blight, and she is going through a remarkable transformation, magically speaking. This is no time for romantic dalliances."

"Ah, but my dear Wynne, perhaps you forget what it is to be young and in love?"

Morrigan laughed. "As if a lecherous cretin such as yourself has ever known anything of the sort?"

As Zevran turned to respond to the witch, Sten tuned him out. Instead, he focused on the elder mage, who had gone still as stone at the elf's words, the blood draining from her face. She had clearly experienced this romantic love the humans seemed to hold in such high esteem.

The elf and the witch's argument was interrupted by the arrival of the mage Warden and the orange-haired woman. They were again clasping hands, and Sten scowled, wondering again how they could be called women, fill the role of women in their society, and yet still be warriors. And mates, apparently. He was sure he would never understand the people of this land.

The taller woman smiled indulgently. "Bickering again?" The newcomers came to stand around the small table in the office they'd been given the use of at the male Warden's request. "I can't leave you alone for fifteen minutes, I swear."

"Tell us what happened, Warden," Sten said, tiring quickly of the close quarters. He could usually easily ignore his companions in camp, leaving to hunt or walk a perimeter of the camp if the constant chatter became too much for him to handle. Here, in the confines of this room, he was growing impatient. He wanted to know what had happened to her, make a decision, and leave.

"Right to the point," she looked up at him with that near constant half-grin. "I like it."

He listened as she told her tale, ignoring the cries of astonishment, the disbelieving questions, the expressions of awe. He remained silent until he was sure she was finished, then asked her the thing that was most important to him.

"You are free of the demon?"

The mage's eyes snapped up to his, searching his face quizzically before nodding once, firmly. "Yes, Sten. I destroyed it."

"Good. I will be in my quarters, if I am needed." He turned and left, not bothering to have a servant show him where to go, as he had made sure to memorize the few routes through the castle he would likely need to take while they were here.

He could hear them wondering at his behavior as he walked, but he paid them no mind. He knew that they did not understand him, just as he did not understand them. But their understanding would come one day soon, when the Qunari of Par Vollen came to this land and made its people submit to the Qun. Until then, he would travel with them to destroy the Blight, but he refused to listen as they prattled on, exchanging gossip instead of information.

* * *

Leliana watched Sten's retreating form. He went shirtless, as the warriors among his people tended to when not in armor, his giant muscles rippling as he moved. She usually had a hard time pulling two words strung together from him, though she strongly suspected he did a lot of listening. As he did just now, before assuring himself Solona was free of a demon and then leaving. Clearly, he'd gotten all the information he needed.

"That was… odd."

Solona snorted. "Tell me about it."

"Back on track, people." Alistair pulled their attention back to the table. "So you got pushed into the Fade like that demon did to us in the Tower?"

Solona shook her head. "No. I drew it there."

Morrigan spoke next. "Are you saying you entered the Fade on your own, _without_ the aid of lyrium or blood magic?"

"Yes. That is _exactly_ what I am saying. The same pathway opened up to me as I fled the demon, and I realized, too late to stop, that the demon was going for the power, not for me. The only thing I could do was embrace it – all of it – take it into me, before the demon could reach it."

"And that was more than enough power to enter the Fade," Wynne finished for her, a look of awe on her face. "You drew the demon there to battle."

Solona just nodded. Leliana could not read the look on the three mages' faces, but she could tell that this was monumental. "Solona." The mage turned to look at her. "Does this mean you can access this power at any time?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

A shiver went through the bard at that answer. She was so worried about Solona when she had collapsed, frightened that she had gone somewhere the bard could not follow. She had fretted and worried, desperate for something to occupy her time as she waited for the mage to awake.

Then she had, and Leliana had been overjoyed, throwing herself into Solona's arms without a second thought, forgetting that they were trying to keep their blossoming relationship to themselves for now. Solona didn't seem to mind, however, and Leliana was almost surprised by how relieved she was to realize that Solona was not ashamed or embarrassed. So relieved that she had forgotten to speak with Solona about this newest revelation with her magic.

"How?" Wynne's voice brought Leliana back into focus immediately.

"I just-" Solona shrugged "- _can_."

"Show us," Morrigan demanded.

Leliana's heart immediately began pounding. She was coming around on magic, reconciling Solona's abilities with what she'd learned about those abilities. But this Arcane Warrior trance still terrified her. "Morrigan, I really don't think-" she began, but was cut off by Solona's raised hand.

"It's alright, Leliana. I can do it."

"But every time you have thus far, you have lost consciousness," Leliana pleaded. "You should not try it so soon after having woken up."

Solona just smiled confidently. "I will be fine. Practice makes perfect, right?"

The mage closed her eyes, her head drifted up a little like she was in thought, and then her eyes snapped open. They glowed, just as Alistair had described from the first occurrence. Unlike then, however, she seemed to be completely herself, wearing the same smile she had been gracing Leliana with before. She raised a hand, and in her palm she held fire. Leliana gasped, flinching away from its heat.

"Truly impressive," Morrigan murmured, then stepped away from the table. "Fight with me, Solona."

"What?" Solona's voice was the same, and yet somehow different. It was like her voice resonated with its own natural overtones. "You want to spar? _Now_?"

"Only if you are _able_," Morrigan answered, clearly trying to bait the young woman.

"Oh, blast it. Yes, alright." It was strange to see a being of such power, such authority, speaking with the same voice and mannerisms as the woman she had been kissing not too many minutes before. It was difficult to reconcile that they were the same person.

The two moved into the middle of the room, Morrigan immediately incanting, throwing a bolt of frozen air at the other mage. Solona sidestepped it with uncanny speed, shooting out her hand to throw the small fireball at Morrigan. Morrigan raised her staff, barely getting out a shouted word in time for an invisible barrier to spring up, causing the fireball to dissipate harmlessly. Morrigan's staff came down, pointing at Solona, absorbing the next attack Solona sent her way. Her lips moved, and a blast of electricity left the staff, engulfing the Warden.

Leliana gasped, ready to run to Morrigan and make her stop. Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder, however, stopping her and calling attention to Solona. Instead of cooking under the energy of the electricity, Solona was gathering the energy between her outstretched hands. With a shoving motion, it suddenly flew at Morrigan in a tight ball, hitting her square in the chest and exploding, throwing her to the floor, her robes smoking.

"Morrigan!" Leliana was more shocked still to see Alistair run to the witch's side, taking her head in one hand and peeling back the charred remains of her Wilds robes from her stomach. Wynne was there almost as quickly, murmuring her healing spells, knitting the broken and charred flesh.

Leliana, rooted to her spot, looked back to Solona to find the Warden smiling in triumph. But almost as soon as Leliana's eyes landed on her, the Warden's smiled wavered, and then her eyes stopped glowing, and she was rushing to Morrigan's side, apologies spilling from her, her voice normal once more.

"You have unlocked the key to your difficulties," she heard Morrigan murmur. The witch's voice was weak, like she'd been having difficulty breathing. "Well done."

Solona let out a disbelieving half-laugh. "I nearly kill you, and you congratulate me?"

Slapping Alistair away, Morrigan pushed herself to be sitting, taking several deep breaths. "I would have killed you with that spell had you not retaliated. It was only fair, and the only acceptable reply to such an offensive spell."

"I-"

"Hush," Wynne cut her off gently. "You can discuss the finer points of battle magic tomorrow. You need to rest after that little _display_, Morrigan."

"Will you never cease your coddling, old woman?!" Morrigan's crack held a little more bite than usual, but as she tried to stand, she faltered, Alistair's quick reflexes the only thing that kept her from hitting the ground once more.

"Yes, 'coddling' is absolutely what I'm doing." Wynne turned, a small triumphant smile upturning the corners of her lips. She caught Leliana's gaze, and the bard couldn't help but return it. Any chance to throw Morrigan's barbs back in her face was a chance to be taken, and celebrated, as they did not often present themselves.

"Here, I'll come with you so you don't fall on your ass again." Leliana looked back to see Alistair helping the witch to her feet and handing over her staff, a smirk on his face. He let go as she leaned her weight on it, and he, Morrigan, and Wynne left the room, Morrigan bemoaning their fussing as they went.

"I wonder if she will ever accept help from anyone," Solona mused, watching as they disappeared.

"From your description of her mother, I would wager she has never known a moment of tenderness in her life," Zevran commented.

Leliana gave him an appraising look. "There you go again, Zevran, surprising me."

He shrugged. "It was merely an observation. It would explain a great deal about her, certainly." He knelt to pet Max, who had come trotting in through the door when Wynne and Alistair had opened it. The dog groaned in pleasure at the elf's touch, rolling immediately onto his back.

Solona smirked. "Looking at him now, you'd never know that he's a vicious beast who could break your arm faster than you can say his name."

"Nor that he's smart enough to understand what you just said," Leliana added, kneeling on the other side of the dog to give him her own belly rub.

"So," Solona began, crossing her arms over her chest and watching the trio on the floor with an amused smile on her face.

Leliana looked up, smirking a little. "Yes?"

"Denerim next."

Leliana saw Solona's smile immediately falter, saw the look of panic, of fear, mar her features. "Your parents," she breathed, comprehension dawning as she got to her feet.

Solona nodded. "Them, yes. And Templars. And Loghain's guards. I am too easily recognized. I cannot hide the mark on my face, nor the color of my hair and skin, Leliana. They will have descriptions of me."

Leliana reached up her hand to cup Solona's face. "Dear one, we will find a way. You can stay camped outside the city while the rest go to this Brother Genetivi and-"

Solona's eyes narrowed at that suggestion, her eyebrows furrowing. "I do not like the idea of being left behind, especially alone out in the woods, while other do _my_ duty."

Leliana quirked a brow at this, feeling the sly smile overtake her features as she let her hand fall to the mage's arm, the muscles there responding to her light touch. "I did not say you would be staying alone, Solona," she murmured.

The mage just stared down at her for a moment, before her scowl was swiftly replaced by a wide grin. "I… think I could manage that," she answered, just as quietly.

Zevran coughed, drawing Leliana's attention. "Perhaps I will go meet with the others. Since you two will not be joining us in the city…"

She felt her face heat, receiving a knowing wink and lecherous grin from the elf before he sauntered out of the room after the others.

Leliana felt Solona's arms wrap around her from behind, felt the mage's cheek nuzzle up next to her own. Her hands slid across the expanse of Leliana's belly before her arms tightened around her waist, making her cheeks flush hotter, at the same time as a chill ran down her spine.

"So."

Leliana smiled. "So."

"I seem to have you all to myself once more."

Leliana turned in the circle of Solona's arms, reaching her arms up to loop loosely around the mage's neck. Exerting a gentle pressure, she pulled the mage down into a soft kiss. She could _feel_ the desire simmering under the surface in the other woman, held tightly in check. She felt guilty about that; she didn't have to imagine the frustration in kissing and touching and feeling the other woman against her but not going further, because she felt the same frustration. But she really didn't want to attempt to make love, only to have the same flashbacks ruin it at an even _more_ inopportune time.

And then there were the scars.

Her whole back was covered in scars of varying shapes and sizes: her shoulders, the small of her back, her buttocks, even her thighs and calves. They had spared no inch of her, making it incredibly difficult to find clothing that would cover enough of her body. She had been whipped, sliced open, prodded with hot irons. The skin she could reach was no longer smooth to the touch, small hills and valleys of scar tissue decorating her skin now. Certain positions were no longer comfortable to lie or sit in, the skin stretching awkwardly, pulling too tightly. It had taken months for her to be able to draw a bow, and not just because she had lost a great deal of weight and strength while captive. Months of stretching, exercising, rubbing oils where she could reach, and still she didn't have the same dexterity she did before Marjolaine betrayed her – still she looked disfigured. She wasn't sure if she was ready to show all of that to anyone, even Solona.

She pulled back from the kiss before it could turn more passionate, snuggling into the mage's embrace, enjoying the warmth and comfort even as she cursed herself for a coward. _I am still a vain woman…_

"So you never told me what Wynne wanted out in the hall," she said, remembering how their last kisses were interrupted.

Solona stiffened slightly. "Oh. That."

She pulled away enough to look up at the taller woman. "What did she want?"

Solona sighed. "She reprimanded me for…" She gestured at the pair of them. "Us."

Leliana's eyebrows rose in shock. "Reprimand? What ever for?"

Solona let out a low growl, frowning slightly. "Duty. She says that I can't do my duty and have romance. She decided to play the game of 'what would you do if Leliana had to die in order to save all of Ferelden?'"

"I…" Leliana didn't know what to say. What _did_ you say to that? And now that it was proposed, wasn't Wynne right? Leliana was asking Solona to have to make a terrible decision, if it came down to that. She had forgotten, in her recent joys, that they were fighting against all odds to gather an army and get the two remaining Wardens in Ferelden within sword's reach of the arch demon. Asking Solona to make a choice between her own life and another's…

"Hey." Solona's voice pulled her back, and she refocused to find the mage staring intently into her eyes. "_You_ are not a mistake, Leliana. _This_ is not a mistake."

"But-"

A finger over her lips silenced her. "What would you have me do? Send you away?"

Leliana shook her head vigorously. "No! I would see this through to the end! I can help you make these alliances!"

Solona smiled. "That's my girl. No, now that we're in it, we're just going to have to go all the way through, face challenges as they come. It is too late to try to deny feelings or attraction, I think."

Leliana sighed. "You are right. Perhaps if we had been wise at the beginning… But it would just be awkward, and, honestly, I do not think I could do it, Solona." She looked up into the mage's eyes, searching for – and finding – her feelings being reciprocated there. "I do not think I could stay away from you. Not now."

Their kiss was soft, gentle, Solona still tasting of honey and tea, the earthy aromas of leather, paper, and wood mixing together to form Solona's signature scent. She gripped the mage's tunic tightly, wanting to pull her even closer, but knowing that this was not the place, and that she was not yet ready. So instead, she pushed them apart, nuzzling once again into the mage's chest, folding her arms between them as Solona engulfed her in an embrace.

"So this alone-time." Solona's voice was low and her breath blew over Leliana's neck. The bard shivered involuntarily, wondering how long her vanity would continue to outweigh her own desire. "Outside Denerim." Again, a blow of breath, causing the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck to move, sending goose bumps all down that side of her body, from shoulder to ankle. "Just the two of us."

"Yes?"

Her voice was a low purr, now. "It just seems the perfect time to…" Solona ran one hand up Leliana's back, running her nails back down again before settling in the small of her back. "Get to know each other a little more _intimately_." Her breath blew over Leliana's ear.

But it was all a little too much, a little too obvious, and it just made Leliana grin and giggle into the mage's tunic. "Your gifts of subtlety are somewhat lacking, my friend."

Solona let out a laugh, abandoning her attempt at seduction and simply hugging the bard to her. Leliana appreciated it. Feeling pressured would raise Leliana's defenses. By accepting her gentle admonishment, in the attitude it was meant, she set Leliana at ease, relaxing her further, allowing her to enjoy their embrace without feeling that she was withholding anything.

They stood in their embrace for moments without time; however, they needed to vacate the room eventually. So, with great reluctance, she parted from the mage, taking her hand and leading them off to sleep, Max trotting dutifully behind them.

* * *

_Okay. So. Thoughts? Before you ask, I realize that there is the potential here for Solona to be invincible, and I already have thoughts on that. She will not be. This will not be limitless power, nor will it have limitless applications. We'll see that further in the future._

_A slightly more beefed-up role for Isolde, because I refuse to believe she is the whiny, incompetent woman portrayed in the game. Her and Jowan both bothered me in-game. Jowan's just SUPER whiny, with persistent concerned-eyebrows. Isolde is the same, though she at least has an excuse. I just don't believe she could be that vapid. So. She gets to take charge and butt heads with Morrigan, just a tad._

_I decided to avoid the blood ritual and going to the Circle because this was just the perfect opportunity for Solona to come into her power. It also provided the opportunity to incorporate things I liked from the Fade but were kind of stupid (in my humble opinion) in the gameplay, like the Spirit of Valor. In addition, I don't think Solona would condone the blood ritual, nor would she kill a young innocent like Connor, nor would she go back to the Circle for their help. Plus, I've been playing with the idea that Solona's power comes from her closer connection to the Fade. So if that's true, then once she comes into her power, she should be able to enter the Fade at will, yes? She shouldn't need blood magic or lyrium._

_I have some ideas for the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest that will expand the history I've hinted at with Arcane Warriors, clarifying the connection and history between them and blood mages. The more I think about it, the more excited I get about it._


	14. Chapter 13 - The Road to Denerim

_A/N: Another long one here. A lot of little tidbits of in-game banter that I bent to suit my needs. Not a lot of plot development here, but I hope you enjoy all the relationship development. I enjoyed writing these moments, certainly. Especially the one with Solona and Leliana._

_Big thanks to Diablo Kades._

* * *

Chapter 13

**The Road to Denerim**

"I saw what you were doing back there."

Alistair looked up from his conversation with Solona to see Leliana walking alongside Sten. The giant Qunari looked down at her.

"Oh?"

"Don't play innocent with me." Her tone was playful, amused.

"What do you think she's going on about," Solona asked in a whisper.

"I don't know, but let's get closer." He winked, eliciting a mischievous grin from his fellow Warden.

"What are you talking about?" Sten's tone was evasive, and Alistair was struck with the realization, as he and Solona crept to walk a little closer to the pair, that he'd never seen Sten express anything but irritation and disdain._ Leave it to a bard…_

"I saw you picking flowers earlier! When we stopped for our midday meal!" Now Leliana was openly laughing.

"… No I wasn't." Sten looked up and away very quickly. Solona stifled a snort.

"You were!"

"They were medicinal…"

Leliana chuckled. "You're a big softie!"

Sten grunted. "We will never speak of this again."

"Softie," Leliana sing-songed, giggling and letting the big man lengthen his stride to get away from her.

Solona called out, "Is there a reason you're baiting him, Leliana?"

The bard just giggled again, slowing her steps to fall in next to the Wardens. "He is a big softie! He acts tough and domineering, but underneath, he is picking flowers! And he is always playing fetch with Max! Not exactly what the stories say about his people."

"If it's all the same to you," Alistair sighed, "_please_, don't piss off the giant wall of muscle and steel. _You_ may be able to knock him down when you spar, but _I_ still can't."

"I don't-" Solona stopped mid-sentence, mid-stride, cocking her head to the side as if she were trying to listen to something. "What is that?"

Alistair, having stopped at almost the same moment, knew immediately what she meant. "Darkspawn."

Solona's head snapped to face him. "Yes. That's what it feels like?"

Alistair nodded, falling back to the cart for his helm, leaving Solona to explain briefly what their exchange meant to Leliana.

"What is it," Zevran asked him.

"Darkspawn." He found his helm immediately, slamming it on his head and buckling it into place. "Strategy?"

"How many?" The Antivan was already leading the donkey and cart off the road, tying the animal's lead to a tree trunk.

"Maybe a dozen," Alistair replied, retrieving his shield and buckling it into place on his arm.

"You, Sten, and the dog charge. Leliana and I will flank around while the mages cast their spells from afar."

"Sounds like a plan," Alistair replied, sending the Antivan off to find the mages while he sought Sten.

The big man was waiting for him, sword drawn. He didn't even need to be told anything, falling into step beside the Warden, following Alistair's lead as he ran in the direction his senses told him he could find their quarry.

Cresting a small hill, off the road, he slowed, seeking out the enemies of his blood.

"There," he said, picking up speed again as the giant immediately outpaced him. As he reached the bottom of the hill, Max passed him as well, just as the first battle cry of their enemies sounded. He watched as Sten closed with them, as Max barreled into a group, knocking three to the ground, and put on an extra burst of speed. His blood pounded in his ears – he had not faced this foe since the night of Ostagar. He was surrounded by the familiar sound of steel clashing against corroded metal armor, the familiar stench of his enemy's flesh, the familiar bitter taste in his mouth as adrenaline was pumped through his bloodstream.

And then the battle was joined, and he had no time to think about anything else. He met his first foe with a bash of his shield to its face, his sword lashing out a moment later and taking it in the throat. He barely flinched as its dark blood spurted over him, yanking his sword free and turning to his left to catch a blow meant for his head with his shield. His answering blow was knocked aside, but he simply followed through with the motion, bringing the sword back in low and gutting the creature before bashing it and knocking it to the ground. He brought his sword down, silencing its death rattle, and cast about for another enemy.

He was faced with an emissary. He didn't have time to think, to strategize or plan his tactics against such a foe. He simply did the first thing that came to mind, which was to take the three running steps to it, slamming into it full-force, shield-first. It stumbled backward, its guttural chanting dying in its throat, dazed momentarily. Then it was falling to the ground, an arrow protruding from its throat.

He would have to thank Leliana later; he had no time to even acknowledge the save at the moment. He looked around, satisfied to see that half of the Darkspawn lay dead upon the ground. He moved to engage one that was sending arrows in the direction of his female companions, but it was suddenly frozen solid, and all he could do was knock it over and continue on his way.

The battle was over a few minutes later when Solona appeared beside him, electricity streaming from both her outstretched hands, her eyes glowing and a scream of unadulterated rage escaping her throat. The last remaining Darkspawn archers cooked in place, comically seizing as they all attempted to pull their melee weapons from their scabbards.

Then it was over, and suddenly Alistair was awash in their foul stench, mixing with the smell of the charred flesh of the electrified ones and the smell of ozone from the electricity itself. Solona stood next to him, chest heaving as the glow disappeared from her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, and an instant later he was moving to catch her as her energy seemed to leave her.

"Thanks," she breathed, leaning against him as she caught her breath.

"No problem." His heartbeat was slowing, and he took this opportunity to examine the battlefield.

It was a scene of gore. Blood stained the ground, soaking into the grass and dirt. Several corpses were beheaded – likely Sten's work – and several others had wounds that could only be caused by teeth shredding at flesh.

His companions appeared to have gotten through the skirmish largely unscathed, though, and he considered all their enemies dead and all his companions alive to be a dramatic improvement over the last time he and Solona had faced the creatures. He watched as Wynne approached Sten, murmuring her spell of healing, blue light seeping into a wound on his arm. Max came to them nose-first, his muzzle dripping dark Darkspawn blood, and pushed his head into Solona's hip with a slight whine. Leliana and Zevran both wiped their weapons off on the clothing of their last foes and sheathed them, bantering back and forth lightly as they began searching the corpses for salvageable arrows, and anything else that might serve them. Alistair could see the fear in Leliana's eyes even as she laughed at some quip from the elf, though, and he didn't blame her – the things were terrifying to behold the first few times. He admired her ability to handle the corpses despite her fear.

"Does it always feel like that?" He returned his attention to his fellow Warden.

"Hmm?"

"The Darkspawn," she clarified, pushing herself away from him and stooping to retrieve the staff she had flung to the ground before her last spell. "The connection. It was like a pressure along my skull, a tingling, like fingers dancing over the bone."

"That… is an incredibly articulate description of the feeling," he answered, her very words bringing the feeling back. "And yes, it does. The more there are, the more fingers on your skull, and the faster they tickle."

"I was so… angry," she said, looking down at her hands after stowing her staff. "I wanted to obliterate them. They are so _wrong_." She looked up at him. "Is that normal?"

He could only nod. The first time fighting Darkspawn after the taint in their blood had had time to settle always terrified and angered a recruit. Solona hadn't been far enough from her Joining at Ostagar, she hadn't felt these things yet.

"Come on," he said, sheathing his sword and unbuckling his shield. "Let's go get the cart and get moving. This stench might make me pass out."

* * *

They had walked for hours after the skirmish with the Darkspawn, finally coming to a stop a little earlier than usual. Solona drew first watch with Leliana, and they now sat, side-by-side, Max stretched out at their feet, backs to the fire some fifteen feet away. Solona cast a glance toward the redhead.

"Are you okay, Leliana?"

Leliana's eyes, which had been staring unfocused toward the sky, came to rest on Solona's face. She offered a small smile, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I am fine, Solona. I was just thinking about earlier."

"So you're okay with the fact that we met our first Darkspawn? With what that means?"

Leliana's brow furrowed slightly. "What _what_ means?"

Solona sighed. She'd hoped Leliana had come to this conclusion on her own. "If the Darkspawn are venturing north, it means the villages to the south have likely been overrun. Lothering and the dozens of other villages like it are likely burned to the ground."

"Yes, actually, I knew that. That is what I was thinking about. Hoping they were able to evacuate in time."

"Oh. Well…"

Leliana took her hand, pulling her attention back to the bard's shining blue eyes. "Do you know where Leandra went?"

Solona hung her head. "No, I don't know. I didn't think to ask her where she might go before I left. Perhaps Kirkwall, although from what I learned, she is not welcome there."

Leliana squeezed her hand, laying her head on the mage's shoulder softly. "I am sure they are alright." Her voice was soft, gentle, almost like she was singing.

Solona moved her arm, wrapping it around the bard. "Me, too. I hope Marian and Carver made it home before they left."

"I never did meet them, did you know that?"

Solona shook her head. "Though, I suppose that makes sense. You didn't meet Aunt Leandra until after I left town, if I recall?" Leliana nodded. "Otherwise you and I would have met, as well."

Leliana hummed her agreement. "I sometimes wish I had gotten out more. I shut myself off in the cloister. It wasn't until I happened to meet Leandra that I even really ventured into town much. It's hard to believe it was almost three years, now…"

Solona sighed after a moment. "I do hope they're alright. I'll need to look them up once this is all over." After a moment, she dared to say something that had been lurking in the back of her mind, though only in a whisper. "I seem to be losing those close to me left and right."

Leliana snuggled closer. "What do you mean, dear one?"

"Aunt Leandra, Bethany and Carver and Marian. My parents, though I suppose that wasn't the Blight." She paused, looked off toward the trees. "Jowan."

"Did they decide what to do with him?"

"The dungeon until the Arl awakes. It was the most Teagan could convince Isolde of." She sighed. "I know he tried to kill her husband, but he was my family in that place, Leliana. He was my best friend, my brother in all but blood. But how could he do it? He's screwed everything up since the day he decided he was too afraid of being made Tranquil, completely proving them right in their justification for the ritual." She closed her eyes, picturing that day in the Tower, when she was recruited to be a Grey Warden. "He betrayed me, used me for the power I had in that place once I'd passed my Harrowing."

Leliana didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around the mage's waist, holding on tight and just _being there_. It was more than Solona could have asked for. She wasn't looking for answers – just comfort.

After a while, her mind was pleasantly blank, no longer thinking of the unpleasantness with Jowan, or her Aunt and cousins. That was when she noticed Leliana humming and perked up a little.

"Do you still sing, Leliana?"

The bard just giggled. "Of course, silly!" She looked up, smiling. "Would you like me to sing to you?"

Solona colored, though she highly doubted it could be seen in the dark, even by someone as used to it as Leliana now was. "I would love to hear you sing," she murmured, looking away.

Leliana caught the mage's face, turning her so they faced one another. "I do not mind, Solona. In fact, I quite miss making music. Is there anything you would like to hear?"

Solona thought for a moment. "There was a song one of the elder mages used to sing to us when she would put us to sleep. I never heard it again after she died." She paused, searching her memory. "If I recall correctly, it was about an enchanted sword, gifted to a woman. I don't really remember all the details, but in the end _she_ took up the sword, made her own destiny."

"Ah, yes. I know it." Those blue eyes twinkled. "That you heard it so young explains your rebellious streak Wynne has spoken of."

"Hey!" Solona narrowed her eyes indignantly, but failed to hold the irritated expression for more than a moment or two. She grinned brightly, hugging the bard to her more closely. "I suppose I was a bit of a Hell raiser at the Tower."

"A bit? Wynne told me a story about how you set Irving's robes on fire the first day you began instruction!"

Solona snorted, then sighed wistfully. "Yes, I remember that. He was very… patient with me, after that. I suppose you learn not to push someone too hard who is prone to do that when they're still so young."

"Well," Leliana said, pushing back from the mage and settling cross-legged upon the ground, facing her sideways. She reached her hand forward, closing Solona's eyes. "Close your eyes, and listen, _mon petit chou-chou_."

Solona's eyes snapped open. "Did you just call me your little cabbage?"

Leliana giggled. "Yes! It is a term of endearment in Orlais – don't be so indignant."

Solona frowned slightly. "If anyone's little, it's _you_," she pouted, closing her eyes again at the bard's urging.

"Hush, and listen, or I shall have to punish you for acting like a petulant child."

She opened her mouth to make some quip about punishment, but the bard swallowed whatever it would have been with a kiss. Her hand fell over Solona's lips as she parted from her, and then the night was filled with a beautiful melody.

Leliana spun a tale of a Lady given a great gift by a powerful sorceress: a sword that never dulled, never needed to be cleaned, and that took on the strongest traits of those things it came into contact with. She was to give it to her true love, which would be the most powerful knight to cross her path. Time passed, and she did not find her true love. Noble young men came, strong men who could fell any beast, but she did not love them, and so kept the sword, awaiting her true love.

More time passed, and one day an impatient suitor attacked her, trying to take what she would not freely give. She took up the sword and slayed him, and decided she was tired of waiting, could be her _own_ powerful knight. She took the knight's horse and the sword and rode for days until she came to the hut in the woods belonging to the sorceress. She declared that the sword would be hers, and confessed her love for the sorceress, and the two lived there, the young woman defending them against those who coveted the sorceress's power, for the rest of time.

Leliana's voice was quiet so as not to wake any of their companions, but full and rich. The melody was simple, repetitive, and yet the bard was able to make each stanza anew, her tone changing subtly to convey the changing emotions in the tale. Solona found herself eagerly anticipating the next stanza, to see how Leliana would frame it the next time she repeated the melody.

Max pushed his head into her lap, and she smiled, scratching behind his ear as she listened to the lilting purr of the Orlesian's voice. After a time, Leliana grew quiet, and when Solona opened her eyes once more, she realized that, in her mind's eye, she had been sitting on her old bed. She was almost surprised when she found she was sitting on the ground, in a clearing in the woods, a fire crackling behind her and a supremely beautiful woman sitting next to her, smiling at her, blue eyes twinkling like the stars overhead.

"Welcome back."

Solona smiled, reaching out and guiding the bard into her lap, cuddling her close. "Thank you. That was… beyond lovely."

"Oh, you are welcome, my Warden. It is no trouble – a bard will take any excuse to sing and tell stories, you know." Leliana kissed her cheek, then her neck, trailing light little kisses down to Solona's shoulder before leaning her head there.

"Yes, but you haven't sung for anyone else here. I take that as a compliment."

She was quiet for a moment, simply cradling the woman in her lap, letting her mind wander. It came to rest on the tale, and something occurred to her. "Leliana?"

"Mmm?"

"The end of the story. I don't remember it ending in… lady love."

Leliana giggled. "That is because you are Ferelden. The tale is an Orlesian one, and in Orlais, it is much more common for women to love women and men to love men. It is not foreign here, of course, but mothers hardly sing of it to their children."

Solona frowned. "Are you saying I was taught an altered version?"

Leliana giggled softly. "Yes, dear one, though your nurse may not have known of the switch."

"Huh. I kind of wish it hadn't been censored so. It might not have taken me so long to realize why I was so uninterested in romance."

"There were no young people in the Tower who caught your eye?"

Solona shook her head. "No. I never even noticed Cullen ogling and fawning over me; though looking back, he could hardly have been more obvious. No, I didn't realize until I met my cousins."

"Oh?"

Solona smiled. "Yes. Marian is… well, like me. She was home on leave, and would take me out drinking at the tavern. She had a sweetheart in town, a sister to one of the barmaids, though I don't think they were very serious. True to each other whenever Marian was home, but not exclusive when she was gone. Anyway, I caught them kissing maybe a week after I arrived, before I knew they were together. I thought they were just friends."

"Oh, my! How did you react?"

Solona snorted. "I just stood there like an idiot. I had no idea what to say, or what to do. I'd never heard of anything like it."

Leliana giggled. "I would pay to see that – I bet you were adorable. I hope she took pity on you?"

"Yes, she did. We took a _very_ long walk home through the woods and talked. The next night she introduced me to her sweetheart's older sister, who worked at the tavern, and who _had_ heard of such things. She, uh… well, I suppose _she's_ the one who took the most pity on me, because I certainly had no idea how to woo a woman."

"She bedded you?"

Solona's face flushed hot, and she nodded. Leliana giggled once more, taking the mage's face in her hands and kissing her forehead.

"I hope it was good?"

Solona grinned sheepishly, nodding once more. "One more reason I was displeased to go back to the Circle – no one else there seemed to have heard of it, either."

She fell silent for a time, enjoying the feeling of Leliana's head on her shoulder, the bard's arms tucked between them.

On a whim, she wrapped her arms tightly around the bard, a grin already on her face as she rolled them over, coming to rest on top of the redhead. She was rewarded with a squawk of surprise before the legs that had been straddling her lap wrapped around her hips, pulling her closer. Their lips met, a hot tongue seeking entry into her mouth almost immediately, the hands that had been folded neatly between them now seeking out her breasts through her shirt, circling gently around already-hard nipples.

She groaned softly at the feeling, began to grind into the other woman with her hips, her hands gripping the bards hips in a death grip. Their lips broke apart, and Solona took the opportunity presented by Leliana's exposed throat, nipping and kissing her way to the pulse point before latching on. Leliana let out a sweet sound, a whimper that only served to stoke the fire in Solona's blood.

But then the familiar warning alarm in her head started sounding, and she pulled it back, toning down her ardor. She never wanted Leliana to feel pressured, never again wanted their time together to, in any way, remind her of her time in captivity in Orlais. Within a few minutes, she simply rested gently on top of the bard, her face pushed into Leliana's neck, breathing in the sweet scent there, her hands resting under the small of Leliana's back. Leliana gently stroked her fingers through Solona's short hair, her knees in the air to either side of the mage, her feet resting on the ground.

"I would like to show you something, my Warden," the bard breathed into her ear, and then a pressure on her shoulders had her sitting up, helping Leliana up, as well. As soon as they were both on their knees, Leliana was turning, her arms up over her head and pulling on her shirt. Solona's heart hammered in her chest immediately, her head swirling with confusion and the last dregs of her earlier lust.

Both settled with startling clarity at what was revealed to her, however. White lines that shone like silver in the moonlight greeted her. Getting closer, Solona saw that some were raised, thick like rope and partially wrapped around her ribs. Others were long and thin, like a knife had sliced her skin. Still others were in odd patterns, dots of scar tissue clustered in groups over very sensitive places, like the small of her back, or the skin over her lowest ribs. The mage could see that they disappeared down below the line of her trousers, up under her bunched-up shirt on her shoulders. She couldn't imagine the pain, the terror, of receiving those, day after day, week after week, stretching into months, and still holding onto the fact that you were innocent of the crimes they punished you for.

* * *

Leliana trembled, holding her shirt high on her shoulders, her back and stomach exposed to the night air. She had been contemplating this for weeks, but had decided on a whim when Solona yet again scaled back her passion, respecting Leliana's need to set the pace. The sudden need for Solona to understand pounded within her, and before she could think better of it, she had pushed the mage off of her and bared her skin – and along with it her past, her shame – to the first person aside from that Chantry Sister who would see it.

It wasn't until her shirt was up and she was waiting with bated breath, listening to Solona's sharp intake of breath, that the doubt hit her. The image of Solona rejecting her, telling her that she simply couldn't be with such damaged goods, entered her mind, and she shuddered at the thought. She trusted the mage, more than she had trusted anyone since Marjolaine, but she had seen her own disfigurement. She knew what she looked like under her clothes, and it shamed her.

It was a reminder of how truly naïve she had been, to trust someone who had been a bard her entire life. The scars were so _ugly_, inflicted in such a way as to last, even with healing ointments and oils, because they were inflicted over the course of _months_, never allowed to heal all the way before more of her flesh was marked.

But she had already done it, and there was no going back, no undoing what she had done. So she sat there on her knees, her back bared to the air, trying not to shiver, trying desperately not to be sick and lose her supper all over the grass.

It felt as though she sat like that for hours, but it was probably less than a minute – probably less than _half_ a minute. Just as she was thinking that she should drop her tunic and get up, hands grasped her shoulders roughly, shocking her into releasing her tunic as she was half-spun. Then she was in Solona's arms, wrapped in a fiercely protective hug. She could only guess what the mage was thinking, but it was clear that this was not a rejection, and so Leliana hugged her back just as tightly, gripping the back of her tunic with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground.

Her voice came out muffled by the mage's shirt. "I wanted you to see. I am a vain woman, have tried to hide it from you. But I want to be close to you; you are so good to me, and I want to get past this… fear. They did this to me because I was a vain woman, knew that even if I confessed and they let me go, I would never again be able to practice my arts, to be with another person. They knew I would feel ashamed by the disfigurement. Marjolaine took care I would never be able to again trust another, and the chevaliers took care that I would never let another see me. They tried to make me invisible, worthless." Her voice dropped; she was barely able to choke out a whisper now. "I cannot let them win. You make me not want to let them win."

Solona didn't say a word, letting her silence show her acceptance, just holding Leliana close until it was time for them to wake their replacements.

* * *

Wynne was tired. Tired down to her bones, which ached with the coming storm. She had just warned the Wardens about its approach, Alistair nodding that they would keep on the lookout for somewhere to take shelter until it was over. It wasn't that they couldn't keep walking in the rain, but Wynne's aches only came with severe weather, the kind it was better to shelter from than to try to slog through. Despite the season being on the cusp of summer, this was likely to be a very cold storm – the last cold front of the season – and they were likely to get hail in addition to the thunder and lightning, and it was just safer not to be out in that while several of their party members were wrapped in metal suits of armor. She hoped they found a place soon. As it was, she would need more than one cup of wine to be able to sleep this night.

Good thing the Bann had seen fit to resupply their alcohol as well as everything else. It would be needed for more reasons than bad weather, too – they had run into three groups of Darkspawn in the week since they had left Redcliffe, including one earlier that day, and anyone would need a strong drink after an encounter with _those_.

"My dear Wynne, you look positively radiant today." Her eyes slid sideways to find that Zevran had silently sidled up alongside her.

"You look absolutely blissful yourself, Zevran." Her tone was wary. Their time together in Redcliffe, while the others were freeing the castle, had been full of flirting and feverish attempts at seduction. She had written it off then as a side effect of his grievous wounds, but it had not let up, and so she was now suspicious anytime he chose to speak with her. His fascination with her breasts was… unsettling.

"You have not asked me about my conscience for some time, my darling Wynne."

She rolled her eyes. "That is correct. And I am not your 'darling.'"

He sighed dramatically. "So once again I am rejected, just as I am by the cruel, cruel fates. They are harsh mistresses to the elves."

Wynne groaned exasperatedly. "Zevran, I am old enough to be your grandmother!"

He just winked at her. "You say that like it is a bad thing."

A new tactic was in order. "And what would you do with me if you had me, hmm? This is a game you play, nothing more."

Zevran clucked his tongue at her. "Ah, you are a cynical woman, Wynne." Then he grinned. "Cynical and powerful. It drives me mad with desire."

His voice dripped sex appeal; Wynne was unaccustomed to anyone speaking with her thusly. When she would seek out comfort from her fellow mages in the Circle – always furtively, and always with herbs available to prevent pregnancy: she would not make the same mistake again – she was always direct. There was no room to have flirtatious behavior blossom into something more, otherwise their minders would see it, quash the romance before it happened. Being direct in a time of need with a good friend was always the better course of action. She had learned her lesson well when she wasn't allowed to meet her son.

But it left her utterly unaccustomed to Zevran's advances, whether or not they were meant in jest. So she just stared at him, hoping her authority as his elder would come through and make his gaze waver. It didn't. He just continued to smirk, holding her gaze with his own.

Finally, she sighed. "I'm going to walk away now." And she did. She lengthened her stride, refusing to look at him, falling in line with Leliana, who was walking alone for once.

"Hello, Wynne," the girl said. Woman. Oh, but when you're old, everyone seems a child. But Leliana was not a child. She was somewhere around twenty-five years, old enough for some time now to have been a mother. She was no child.

She smiled. "Hello, Leliana."

"I couldn't help but overhear Zevran. He is persistent, I will give him that." Wynne couldn't help but notice the small smile on the young woman's lips.

She groaned. "I wish he would leave me alone. I am… unused to such lecherous attention. And I know it is only in jest, but it still makes me uncomfortable."

To her surprise, the redhead giggled. "Oh, I do not think it is in jest. He jests, yes, but I see how he looks at you. He is quite _taken_ with you, ever since Redcliffe, I think."

Wynne just narrowed her eyes. "I highly doubt that. How could he be? I am old, far too old for him."

"But if I am right," Leliana countered, amusement still dancing in her eyes. "If I am right, what would you think? Would you desire to be with him?"

"I… of course not!" Really, the very thought of someone like her, with him. He was so young, far too young to be spending his time with an old woman, whose bones ached because of the weather. And this was all if she ignored his morally reprehensible occupation. She latched on to that. "He is a murderer, an assassin who does not repent his ways. He is irreverent when we speak of it, has no qualms diverting me to talk of my _bosom_ instead of the morality of his former life."

Leliana's eyes became a little sad. "Can you really fault him? He knew no other life until now, Wynne. He wanted out, took the opportunity, but we cannot ignore the things we knew to be true for so long." She looked down to the ground in front of her. "_I_ assassinated people, in Orlais, for Marjolaine: for her love, her approval. I regret it, yes, but I had a very different upbringing from our elven assassin. He learned to kill or be killed from a very tender age. Surely we cannot fault him for his current view of the world?"

"I…" Wynne fell quiet, thinking. She was right, really. She knew Zevran's story, had heard it while they recuperated together in Redcliffe's Chantry. She had felt pity for him then, and a quiet tenderness had grown for him in her heart, replacing the distrust she'd held for him when she first learned of how he had joined the party. This was _why_ she was questioning him on the morality of his past – she felt she could help him see that murder was wrong, and that he could make up for the wrongdoing while traveling with the Wardens. But perhaps…

"You are very wise, Leliana," she said with a wry grin. "Perhaps I should leave him be, stop trying to force the issue of his morality. I imagine his world has changed to an incredible degree in the last few months. Perhaps I can simply leave him be, and instead of trying to _force_ a change in him."

Leliana smiled more deeply, the sad look leaving her features. "I am glad you see that, Wynne. And who knows? Perhaps love can yet spring between you two."

Wynne snorted. "I highly doubt that." She looked at her young friend. She had not spoken with _her_ yet about her blossoming romance with the Warden. Perhaps she should say something now?

"I imagine Solona spoke with you about our conversation?"

Leliana's smile disappeared. She looked forward as she nodded. "Yes. I believe you were worried about her priorities?"

"Yes. I am worried that she will let you surpass her responsibilities as a Warden, making you her top priority."

"Perhaps. But have you seen her do that thus far?"

Wynne's brow furrowed. "No…" How long had this been going on? She assumed Redcliffe was the start, but perhaps the two had been keeping it to themselves for some time? "How long have the two of you been an item?"

Leliana's lips turned up in a small smile. "Since the Circle, Wynne."

Wynne was stunned. She'd had no idea. She must be showing her shock, because Leliana was giggling, and then she was outright laughing, and Wynne couldn't help but blush – blush! Her - blushing!

"I suppose I haven't seen her letting her responsibility slide…"

"I do not think you are wrong to worry," Leliana said after her laughter died down. "But I think… I think we can be good for each other. We both need to learn to trust again, Wynne. She has been betrayed by those closest to her too many times. It has taken months for her and Alistair to get to where they are."

"What about you, child? You have been betrayed, as well. I cannot imagine it has not affected you."

Now Leliana blushed, making Wynne very curious. "It has," the redhead said, looking away for a moment. "I have not been… intimate with anyone in a very long time."

"You mean you and Solona have not…?"

Leliana nodded. "Poor Solona has had to deal with my demons right alongside me. We are taking things very slowly, getting to know each other as well as we can before… well. I'm sure you don't need to hear the details. Suffice it to say that this is not an insignificant encounter. We are learning from each other, and I believe we can help each other. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I may attempt to hunt – if we are to be idle tomorrow, it would be nice to have a heartier meal. Plus, then I can look for shelter from the storm off the main road, yes?"

Wynne was silent until they stopped for the evening. Leliana had given her much to think on.

* * *

"Do you realize that you've been smiling for hours now?"

Solona looked up to Morrigan, who had been walking silently beside her for some time. "Oh? Have I?" She _had_ been staring at Leliana's backside ahead of her, so she supposed it was probably true. That sight tended to put her in a good mood.

"Yes, since the last time you and that _girl_ shot glances at each other in fact." She was quiet a moment, then clucked her tongue impatiently. "I honestly cannot imagine what you begin to see in her, Solona. I hope at least the _dalliance_ is worthwhile?" Her tone was acerbic, threatening to offend with every word, every change in pitch.

Solona was used to it, though. And even though Morrigan was speaking of sex, and they had not yet _had_ sex, she answered, "Oh, you have _no_ idea." Better that than to rise to her bait.

Morrigan let out a bark of laughter, answering in an amused tone. "I see! Well, glad to hear it then." Her amused tone left her, however, as she continued. "'Tis a bit _sickening_ to watch you two, but I imagine it at least takes your mind from our situation." She gestured with her hand in a manner very unlike her. "Have it your way."

Solona snorted. "Calm down, Morrigan. Or are you jealous?"

"Jealous?! The very thought is absurd! I desire neither of you for my own."

Solona rolled her eyes, cursing silently as her boot squelched out of a deep bit of mud on the road. The storm had raged the entire day before, thundering and flashing lightning most of the day, leaving great puddles of mud and water just _waiting_ for their cart to get stuck in. And her boot, apparently. They had played it safe and taken shelter in a cave they had managed to find off the main road.

"Right, whatever. How are you adjusting to the new clothing?"

Morrigan glanced down at her form for a moment, looking back up and ahead of them before answering. "It is serviceable. I appreciate that you went to the trouble of finding it for me before we left, even though I did have a spare set of robes."

"One needs more than a single set of clothing. Besides, it was the least I could do, given that I left a smoking hole in your favorite shirt."

"I do not see why you continue to blame yourself for that. You were only acting in self-defense, against one of my more powerful spells. You _should_ have retaliated in a way that would damage me."

Solona sighed. "And I maintain that if I'm going to be sparring with anyone while channeling that energy, I need to learn to have enough control to not hurt them more than a blunted weapon would. Control is essential to wielding our power effectively. I would think you would know that – _your_ degree of control is astounding."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "I suppose you are right, about _that_, at least. Control is important. But the guilt you feel is misguided. You should stop letting it control you."

"Perhaps," Solona answered, thoughtful. "But perhaps guilt can be a good thing. It can lead us to learn lessons from past mistakes, can't it?"

"Or perhaps you are still yet a product of the Circle," Morrigan supplied, not succeeding in keeping the contempt out of her voice. "Perhaps their guilt is so deeply ingrained that any time you use magic, you feel like a misbehaving child for it?"

Solona frowned. "I think perhaps you hate the Circle more than I do, Morrigan. It is a cage, yes, but I learned more there than I ever would have had I stayed with my poor, ill-educated parents. And Wynne has a good point when she talks about the way the people who took care of her treated her once magic came to her. It may leash us, but the Tower also provided a place of understanding, a place of education that is unavailable to most outside of it."

"Her preference for the leash she wears disgusts me. And _you_ are coming dangerously close to sounding like _her_."

"Morrigan, we've had these arguments before. I agree that the Circle keeps us chained, that the Chantry works to keep the populace ignorant. If they had never made the common person ignorant, then life outside the Circle would be better for young mages. But as it was, the Circle was unfortunately the best option for me, in my situation. I plan to work to make things different from now on, however. And right now, the best way to do that is to defeat the Blight and restore the Order here in Ferelden."

"But you do not even know _how_ a Grey Warden kills an arch demon! I am confident my mother's grimoire will have that information, Solona, and yet you do not wish to go kill her so that you may have it!"

Solona shot a glare at Morrigan. "I do not refuse to do this thing for you. I have already agreed. But we must complete this errand first. And I need more time if I am to defeat your mother. I might be an Arcane Warrior, but she has centuries of magical prowess over me, and a demon inside of her, to boot. I cannot hope to defeat her now, and you know that. Why do you push me to my death?"

Morrigan actually looked guilty for a moment. "I… I do not. I simply did not understand your hesitation."

"Well, now you do. Can we agree that I need more time to get my power under control if I am to survive an encounter with Flemeth?"

Morrigan nodded. "Yes, that makes a great deal of sense."

And that was as close to an apology as she was going to get, because Morrigan then walked away from her, pulling the fake grimoire from the bag on her hip and reading as she walked, somehow, miraculously, missing all the mud as she went.

* * *

"The way you look at her so intently, so _hungrily_… one would think you have never seen a woman before."

Somehow, Leliana found herself walking next to Morrigan. It was her least favorite place to be because of Morrigan's scalding tongue. And now, it appeared she would be chiming in with her opinion on Leliana's relationship with Solona.

She scowled a little. "Since when has where I look been your concern, Morrigan?"

Morrigan continued as though Leliana had not spoken. "It is almost as though you wish she would feel your gaze upon her, and notice you."

"Perhaps… or perhaps I stare because she makes me happy?"

"But what does she see in you? A girl, skinny like a boy, with wild, ragged hair."

That wasn't fair. Leliana wasn't the voluptuous picture of womanhood that Morrigan was, but she certainly had assets to be proud of, hips and breasts that could be shown off. And her backside had always been the delight of her partners. Now if she could ever get over this crippling fear of showing her skin again…

Refusing to follow that line of thought to its inevitable conclusion, Leliana retorted with a little more bite than usual. "What is your point, Morrigan? That I am not attractive?" Perhaps the cat had not been _completely_ declawed. "I do not need to make disparaging remarks about other women to make myself feel better. I know who I am."

She paused, looking sideways at the witch, her eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurred to her. "You say that I am the one who tries to be noticed, but it is you." She was suddenly sure of her conclusions. "He does not notice your advances, the way you look at him, does he?" She looked pointedly at Alistair, up ahead of the group, currently scrubbing a hand through his slightly sweaty hair. "I suggest you stop projecting how you are feeling on someone else. _My_ advances have been met quite satisfactorily."

To say Morrigan reacted in anger would have been an understatement. Leliana could practically feel the energy crackling, being called to the mage's disposal. She didn't give her the satisfaction, however, instead choosing to lengthen her stride, hurrying to join Solona where she walked with Zevran ahead of her.

She heard Morrigan swear as she caught up to the Warden, and smiled to herself. She would pay for that later, but for now, she would put that particular argument under her "wins" column.

* * *

Alistair groaned. He hated being Solona's guinea pig, even as he agreed that she needed to practice as often as possible, especially now that they were running into pockets of Darkspawn on the road. They all needed practice, really. And so they had taken to sparring as a group, knocking each other full of bruises and welts with heavy wooden practice weapons, the mages learning some measure of close-quartered self-defensive spells.

Solona had it worst, in some ways. She was learning melee fighting, incorporating her magic into close-quarters combat. But she could not do so in a lethal way, which took a great measure of control. And it was important that she learned melee fighting with and without the augmentation of magic; some beings were immune to most magic. And until she had learned to control the well of energy to sustain her, she often ran the risk of passing out if she used too much of it in one go. The mages had all sorts of theories for why this was, but the most likely seemed to be that her body acted as a conduit, and if too much energy was allowed to flow through it at once, then when she shut off access, she drained her body of the energy that had been sustaining it.

It didn't help that control seemed to be an incredibly difficult thing to come by when she opened herself up to that energy. Which was somewhat ironic, given that when she had been casting without it, she almost had too much control, cast sometimes too slowly, didn't make her spells powerful enough. When she opened herself up, her eyes glowing and her spells flowing from her like it was the most natural thing for her to do, she got… Alistair didn't know how to describe it. It was like looking into a cat's eyes when it was playing with a mouse before it ate the rodent. It gave him the creeps.

His current opponent, Leliana, abandoned him on the ground, seeking out another foe. He watched as she settled on Morrigan, who had just finished knocking a trembling Zevran to the ground. He decided not to get up, wanting to watch these two powerful women go at it. And go at it they did. As each of his travel companions was knocked down by their adversary, they stayed down, until only Solona stood, now watching Leliana and Morrigan with a worried expression alongside everyone else on the ground – even Sten, who Solona had just started being able to best the night before.

The two tore into each other almost immediately, probably fueled by all the catty remarks they had been sharing over the last several weeks – almost two months, now that Alistair thought about it. Mostly it had been barbs that Morrigan threw at Leliana, but the bard was not without her weapons, and sometimes left the witch walking away from her without a word. That seemed to be Morrigan's MO when she didn't have a comeback: simply leave without a word. It was infuriating to Alistair, and, apparently, given how viciously Leliana was fighting the witch, to the bard, as well.

Morrigan first sent a bolt of frozen air toward Leliana, who danced out of its way quite easily. Leliana countered without pause, launching herself at Morrigan, falling at the last moment to roll, with all of her momentum, into the witch's ankles. Morrigan fell to the ground, rolling out of the bard's way before a blunted dagger made out of a heavy wood could hit her. She was on her feet in seconds, casting another spell, sending a wave of invisible force at Leliana.

Leliana fell to her knees for a moment, a look of pure terror coming over her face. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, it was gone – Leliana had broken free of the nightmare – and she was on her feet and running before the next spell could hit her. Morrigan was incanting a new spell when Leliana suddenly put on a quick burst of speed, outpacing Morrigan's incanting and delivering a punishing uppercut to Morrigan's chin with the heel of her hand. It stopped the mage in her tracks, halting the flow of magic and allowing Leliana the time to wheel around in a circle, bringing her booted foot around with her and connecting with Morrigan's face. The witch almost hit the ground, instead stumbling backward with a trickle of blood escaping her lip.

Leliana's triumph was short-lived, however, as she was hit in the face with the blunt end of Morrigan's long staff. Leliana, taken by surprise, hit the ground a moment later, and then it was just Morrigan left standing, panting as she wiped the blood from her face. She glared at the bard for a moment, then, for some reason Alistair could not comprehend, looked to him. She held his gaze for a short moment, and in that moment he felt like a fatted lamb being pranced in front of a very hungry wolf. It only lasted an instant, however, Morrigan swiftly turning on her heel and marching to her tent.

Solona was already at Leliana's side, using a healing spell Wynne had taught her to heal the cut to Leliana's forehead. She was finding out that she couldn't channel her new source of energy into magic she had never learned to use, and so had begun instruction from both Wynne and Morrigan in new spells. It was apparently slow going, especially healing spells; from his understanding, in order to heal anything more than skin-deep, the mage needed to have a thorough understanding of the complex human (or animal) anatomy, something that was difficult to learn without books or other examples. But she and Morrigan had at least mastered this much, which would allow them both to heal some of the most deadly wounds you could get from a blade: the kind that made you bleed to death.

Wynne was busy healing the nasty burn Morrigan had inflicted upon Zevran when she felled him, and Sten was examining Max for injuries. That left him with little to do but pick himself up off the ground. Once he was on his feet, he didn't know what to do. Well, not until Solona got his attention.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you help Leliana clean up around here?" They were both on their feet now, Leliana looking fine, aside from a furious expression and a faint bruising near her temple.

"Yeah, alright."

"Thanks." Solona's eyes narrowed. "I have to go have a little _chat_ with Morrigan about the appropriate spells to use against a non-mage while _sparring_. For the Maker's sake, what in the Hell is wrong with her?!" She continued in that vein, to herself, as she marched over to give the witch a piece of her mind.

Alistair watched her go, shaking his head a little. "I would _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that, especially with you involved."

Leliana made a frustrated sound. "She is being over-protective. I do not need her to do this."

Alistair turned to her, a puzzled expression on his face. "But, how could she not? She obviously cares about you. That's what you do for the people you care about, isn't it? You protect them."

"I do not need her to coddle me. I can defend myself just fine."

"I don't think that's under debate, Leliana. I think she just doesn't like the idea of Morrigan casting nightmares into your mind. You save that kind of nasty work for your actual enemies." He stooped to pick up a practice dagger she'd dropped, finding nothing else that needed tidying. Clearly, Solona had merely not wanted either of them following her. "She hardly coddles you; she never gets in your way when you're fighting someone else, and as far as I can tell, when the two of you spar, you almost get more ferocious with each other than with anyone else. I agree with her on this – Morrigan was out of line. The spells she was using were the equivalent of you going at her with razor-sharp, poisoned blades. You do not do that when sparring with your companions."

"Perhaps…" She took the weapon from him with a murmur of thanks, moving to her tent to rid herself of her armor. He sighed, shaking his head and smiling ruefully to himself. _I really am terrible when it comes to women_.


	15. Chapter 14 - Denerim

_A/N: Alright, my lovelies, here's your smut, which I'm sure you've waited a long time for ;). And this is what I leave you with until after my exams are over, because I really have to focus on those. Also, Haven and the Urn are giving me fits, and I just don't have the time to focus on it right now. I **might** update again during exams, but I promise nothing - especially because my beta (thanks, Diablo Kades!) is also gearing up for exams._

_Obviously, this chapter is what is earning this story its M-rating. It won't be the only smutty chapter, but it will likely be the only one that focuses only on sex like this one does._

_Hope you all enjoy. Drop me a line to let me know how you like it._

* * *

Chapter 14

**Denerim… and Other Things**

Leliana woke to an empty tent. She hummed to herself as she pulled on her clothing, wondering what she and Solona would do with the two days they would be here, alone. Well, she knew what she _planned_ to do, and thought it likely that it would happen, but still – it was unlikely they would spend the entire two days bedding each other. Though, with that legendary Grey Warden stamina…

She exited the tent before she could follow that line of thought to its only reasonable conclusion, only to emerge to a completely tidy – and empty – camp. Everyone's tents were set up, the fire dying down to coals, logs set up around the fire; it was all there, except for her companions. Well, that wasn't true. Max was there, getting up from his position near the fire and stretching before walking lazily over to greet her.

"Hello, boy," she greeted, falling to a knee and grabbing his big head with both hands. "Where is everyone?"

He immediately stood from his seated position and chuffed happily, turning and walking off to where the trees were thicker. She got up and followed him curiously, wondering where he was taking her.

She didn't have to wonder for long. When the stream was in sight, he chuffed at her, then started back the way they had come. Looking back, she could see the tents were just barely visible through the trees. She hadn't realized how close they had settled to the water the night before, too busy preparing dinner and falling into an exhausted sleep was she.

A faint humming caught her attention, coming from the direction of the water. A few seconds of listening assured her that it was Solona's voice, and so, with a smile on her face, she crept silently to the water's edge.

The sight that greeted her immediately had her heart pounding in her chest. Solona stood naked in the middle of the stream, her back to the bard. Leliana could see muscles bunching as the mage ran a sponge over her arms, her whole body then stretching as she reached for the awkward places on her back. She looked very different from the first time Leliana had seen her all those weeks ago, when she had undressed the mage after Zevran's ambush. Then, she had been of average build, soft with only a hint of muscle underneath. That was no longer true. The months of travel since she left the Circle, combined with almost as long sparring with her companions, had left Solona well muscled, almost chiseled in comparison.

The water only reached the mage's hips, and so Leliana could see the entire expanse of the woman's back: the long curve of her spine, disappearing into the water just as it became the swell of her backside; the soft skin and hard muscles of her shoulders; the gentle curve as hips turned to waist, waist to ribs. Solona's shifting revealed the barest hint of a breast, a nipple and the gentle curving underneath it, as she washed her body, and Leliana decided that now was the time.

Before she could think better of it, she began to divest herself of her clothing. She did not try to muffle the sound, and so within a few seconds Solona had turned, alarm in her eyes until she saw that it was Leliana. When she realized what Leliana was doing, she tensed for a very different reason.

Leliana just stared unabashedly, taking in the sight before her as she unlaced her boots, drew her shirt over her head, let her trews fall to the ground. She drank in the sight of Solona's body, barely able to spare the small amount of concentration necessary to rid herself of her smallclothes, of the cloth that bound her breasts in place.

The mage was simply exquisite. Her dark skin puckered with the cold of the water, glistening in a way that made Leliana want to kiss every inch of it. Her breasts, small in comparison to the rest of her, were nevertheless inviting: perfectly round mounds, settled with their own weight, erect nipples pointing directly at the bard. Her shoulders were somewhat broad for a woman, though not unnaturally so, and from here, Leliana could see that all the sparring had left the mage with hard abdominal muscles, her hip bones chiseled in a way that practically begged for Leliana's tongue to trace them. A tiny line of hair disappeared into the water, promising a dark thatch of curls over the mage's sex.

She could simply not take her eyes from the sight before her.

Another tug and she was free of all her clothing, gliding into the water as she held the mage's gaze. Neither said a word, simply staring at each other until Leliana stood so close that she had to look up into the mage's eyes. She shivered a little at the cold of the water, feeling goose bumps that only had a little to do with that cold creep up her sides. She honestly felt like she was on fire - her body was already keyed up in anticipation.

Then, the silence was broken. "Good morning," Solona murmured, her eyes heavily hooded as she looked down at the bard with a faint smile on her lips.

Leliana grinned. "Kiss me." She hadn't meant to say that. She'd meant to answer in kind, playing the little game of pretending this was all terribly normal. But clearly her body had usurped her brain, and then Solona's hands her sliding from her ribs down under the water to her hips, pulling the bard close as she leaned her face forward to meet Leliana's.

Leliana almost cried out when the mage's warm skin pressed against hers. Those long, strong arms circled her waist, pulling them together as her own hands reached up, her fingers twining into the mage's hair, nails gently raking the scalp. Their skin sliding together felt like rubbing against warm silk, only more sensual, as this was _Solona_, and not an inanimate piece of cloth. The interesting play between the mage's hot skin and the cold water was threatening to overpower her senses.

The kiss was what grounded her. Solona's lips were warm, and Leliana delighted in the now-familiar taste of tea and honey that was the mage's perpetual flavor. She twined her tongue with Solona's, letting the mage rock very slowly, not missing that she was working her way down, to be on a more even level with the bard. It made her smile, and she could feel the mage's answering smile through the curve of her lips.

She pulled away, grinning at Solona, finding the same hunger she felt mirrored in the taller woman's eyes.

* * *

Solona gasped as Leliana trailed hot, wet kisses from her lips to her jaw and up toward her ear. When she reached that spot, she started nibbling on the lobe, causing Solon's knees to go weak. She could do nothing more than give Leliana access to those sensitive places and allow her own hands to roam.

And roam they did. She traced her fingers along the smooth, alabaster skin, refusing to back away from the silver scars she felt under her fingertips. Up along ribs, down onto thighs, back up to cup two perfect globes of flesh under the water, and further up still to circle two deliciously erect nipples. Her skin felt simultaneously too hot, and prickled with goose bumps from the cold of the stream. Leliana's skin sliding along hers was just about the best feeling she'd ever felt in the world, and she never wanted it to stop.

But then Leliana was leading her toward some rocks that jutted out into the water. A gentle pressure sat the mage down on the edge of the lowest one, and then their faces were of a level. Leliana was standing between her legs, drawing them apart as her dexterous fingers played along the insides of Solona's thighs, her lips catching the mage's in another fierce kiss. Solona groaned as Leliana continued to play with sensitive skin, leaving Solona's mouth in favor of her throat. Hot kisses burned a trail down onto her chest, that wicked tongue darting out to taste flesh as she went. Solona could do nothing but rake her nails through Leliana's hair and across her shoulders, moaning and groaning and gasping her exclamations as Leliana built her further and further up.

She practically bucked them both back into the water when Leliana stopped circling Solona's nipple with her tongue, taking it into her mouth slowly but deliberately.

"Maker, Leliana!"

A coy little giggle danced on the air, and then Leliana sucked sharply, making Solona cry out in pleasure. Just when she thought nothing else could feel more exquisite, Leliana's hands abandoned Solona's thighs in favor of more intimate areas, and Solona was swearing to the Maker above for sweet mercy. A finger slicked itself with her arousal, finding its way through her slippery folds quite easily and pushing into her. Solona thought she might pass out, but was determined not to, to not miss this experience for anything in the world.

A second finger joined the first, and Solona suddenly knew why those who found men attractive would find sex with them to be satisfying – she'd never experienced this feeling of being _full_ before. But that curling up that Leliana was employing was surely something the male member was incapable of? Solona cried out as Leliana did it again, wrapping her legs around the bard's hips as she gripped desperately at her shoulders, holding the bard to her as tightly as she could.

Leliana had moved her face back up to Solona's long before, immediately nipping and biting at her collarbone, her throat, her earlobe, surely leaving her mark wherever she touched. But Solona didn't care, didn't have a single thought to spare for what the others might say when they saw the bite marks upon her flesh. She could only gasp and moan, saying Leliana's name in a pleading tone, though not quite knowing what she was pleading for.

But Leliana knew. She grinned, purring to the mage in Orlesian, saying words Solona had never come across in her academic pursuits, and so could not understand – though she certainly got the gist. The bard worked her, pumping her fingers in and out, curling them just so, holding her tight about her middle with her free arm as the mage writhed; until, finally, her thumb ventured forth, finding that perfect bundle of nerves that sent Solona practically flying off the rock again. Solona was pretty sure that it was only her death grip on the bard that kept her rooted to the earth.

The Orlesian's tone seemed to have changed, seemed almost to urge her toward something, even though she still could not understand what the shorter woman said. But the same urgency, the same feeling of moving toward something, was happening inside of her, a molten heat quickly spreading from her belly all the way out to the tips of her fingers and toes. Suddenly, as her pleasure mounted, as her cries and pleas deteriorated into unintelligible syllables of need, the heat contracted, gathering in a tight ball in the very center of her, where Leliana's fingers played. Then, just as suddenly, it felt like the ball exploded outward, heat rushing forth, and Solona was falling off the edge of a cliff in her lover's arms, crying out with the exhilaration of the fall.

* * *

Leliana chuckled as Solona let her head fall, coming to rest on the bard's shoulder. She stilled her ministrations, letting her hand simply rest there between the mage's legs. She could feel the woman's pulse beating a tattoo against her fingers, and it only served to stoke her own inner fire. Hopefully, Solona was not the type to fall asleep after lovemaking, like some people whose bed she had shared.

"I take it that was the first one of _those_ you've experienced?"

Solona nodded her answer, still breathing hard, pulse still racing against the fingers Leliana had embedded inside of her.

She purred further into Solona's ear, telling her how lovely she was, how beautiful, how good she looked, how delectable she tasted. A sudden thought came to her, and, after gently easing her trapped hand free – amidst whimpers and whines from the mage – she brought the coated fingers to her lips, sampling the taste of the most intimate part of her lover.

She heard a hiss as she closed her eyes, taking first one and then the other finger into her mouth. The slightly tangy taste was just as she remembered a woman tasted, and yet different, exhibiting some quality that was _Solona_, that no one else could produce. The taste sent a thrill through her, and when she opened her eyes – after completely cleaning off her fingers – she found Solona staring at her, her eyes fixed with a hungry expression. She suddenly felt like a lamb being stared down by a wolf, and the feeling excited her more than she had ever thought it might.

In one move, Solona was on her feet, one arm swooping underneath Leliana's knees and lifting her above the water. She yelped, her arms immediately going around the taller woman's shoulders to steady herself. The mage left the water, walking with Leliana in her arms, moving slowly enough to make it clear that she was being careful despite her eagerness to get wherever she was going.

Speaking of which. "Where are we going, my Warden," she asked, letting her desperation, her lust, color her tone, watching as the mage shivered from the sound of her voice. She smiled to herself, glad that she had not lost her touch.

In answer, the mage began to lower her, and then she could feel grass against her skin, and she was being laid down on the ground, the naked body of her lover pressing on top of her. Their lips met in a feverish clash, Solona's tongue pressing into her mouth gently but insistently, one hand going straight to Leliana's breast as the other held the majority of her weight.

The thing was, after her own treatment of the mage, she really didn't need much in the way of buildup. She was already there, felt as if she'd been there for weeks at this point, and really just needed the mage to be inside of her _now_. So, as she guided Solona's head with one hand to be nibbling and kissing at her throat, her other hand took Solona's wrist and guided it down. The mage's fingers trailed over the expanse of her belly, tickling the few scars there, and down through her fiery red curls, damp with both water and her own arousal. The mage needed no guidance after that, latching on to the bard's pulse point with her mouth as she pressed, gently but persistently, until she was buried as far as she could go.

Leliana groaned, wrapping her arms around the mage's shoulders, her legs around the mage's hips. No thoughts of past trauma came to her, too distracted by the delightful sensations of being filled up by the mage. She was also distracted by how it wasn't quite enough.

"Another," she murmured, pleaded, and Solona pressed a second finger inside of her, needing no clarification for what the bard meant.

Maker! That was what she was looking for! The mage pressed in and up in a fair imitation of Leliana's moves upon her, and it became clear to Leliana that Solona would only need a few times to know exactly how to work the bard's body until she was shuddering and pleading _mess_. The thought shot a thrill through her, and she began to grind her hips against the hand that was inside of her.

Solona began to drive her penetration of the bard with her hips, and Leliana completely lost the ability to think, instead simply grinding, crying out, trying desperately to remember to breathe. It quickly became too much, and she was hovering on the edge of her own cliff. She was so desperately close that she acted without thinking, removing the hand that had been clutching a handful of Solona's white hair and snaking it down between their bodies to her center. She pressed a single finger to that magical bundle, and within seconds she was falling down that cliff, bucking and gasping the whole way.

Awareness returned to her even as her body trembled with aftershocks. Sweaty skin sliding against her own, a hot mouth pressing kisses to her shoulder and collarbone, her sex still clenching off and on around the fingers that were pressed deep inside of her.

She chuckled, low in her throat, wrapping her arms around the mage's shoulders once more, hugging Solona to her fiercely.

"You," she said, licking her lips in an attempt to wet a mouth that had gone dry with her many cries, "are _exquisite_."

Solona grinned, kissing her, wrapping her free arm around Leliana's waist, under the arch of the bard's back, stoking the coals back into inferno so quickly that Leliana almost yelped in surprise. Within minutes, they were making love once more, their skin dappled by the sunlight coming through the trees.

* * *

Alistair walked through Denerim with the world's worst companions, in his opinion. Sten rose up above him by a foot, his horns curving up and calling the attention of every person in the square. Qunari mercenaries – called Tal Vashoth by Sten – weren't unheard of in Ferelden, though it had been a little difficult to convince the giant to play that part if it came down to explaining their cover story of being part of a larger mercenary group. They had finally settled on him just remaining silent and trust that others would assume him a mercenary, something he was blessedly more willing to do.

The cover allowed them to wear their weapons and armor, and to be seen going from stall to stall in the Market District. Finding Brother Genetivi's home was proving difficult, however – none of them had been to such a large city on their own before, and so had no idea how to navigate the seemingly random mish-mash of dwellings in the city.

He had been educated in the Chantry here, but he had never really left its halls while he had lived here. Then he had been a Templar initiate, and then a Grey Warden. Morrigan had grown up in a swamp, the largest settlement she'd ever visited being Lothering. Sten spoke of Qunari cities, but they were the exact opposite of what they found around them in Denerim, which was chaos and a great stench if not on the main street. They had an address, but it quickly became evident that it would not be enough for them to figure out where they needed to go. He could only hope Wynne and Zevran had more luck.

In addition, Alistair was nervous for a different reason from his companions. He _also_ had the last-known address of his sister, and he planned on trying to visit her while he was here, assuming he could ever get a feel for the city streets. He had never met her, didn't even know she existed until the Arl had mentioned her on his last visit to see Alistair at the Chantry here in Denerim. To say he was nervous was a gross understatement.

Because of this, he thought maybe he shouldn't go alone, that maybe he should take someone with him. But the two people he'd be most comfortable taking, and who he felt would be least likely to think less of him for wanting to meet his sister, were not in the city, so his options were somewhat abysmal. He supposed he could ask Wynne, but it just didn't seem right to appeal to her sympathetic nature. Plus, he wasn't sure he could deal with her pity if things didn't go well.

He stopped at a stall selling ingredients for potions, allowing Morrigan to boss him around in what to buy. He was surprised when Sten had input as well, though he supposed Elfroot had healing properties whether or not you practiced magic, and anyone with the knowledge could make a poultice with the herb. He eventually stepped back and let them at it, paying once they were satisfied with their supplies.

It went like this all afternoon, he and Morrigan exchanging their usual barbs, though at a much lower volume from usual, given the press of people around them. Passersby continued to stare up at Sten, but Alistair noticed that it was really only a moment or two, just taking the opportunity to see a Kossith up-close. All in all they did not draw too much attention to themselves. Thank the Maker Morrigan's newest addition of clothing covered her up a little better than the last, or Sten's bulk would be the least of their worries in terms of attention-grabbing companions.

Their last stop before heading to the tavern Zevran had told them they would be sleeping was the dwarven armorer, to replace the greatsword Sten had been using since his freedom was gained in Lothering. It had been a serviceable weapon, but it was not the best quality to start out with, and had only degenerated in the last two months – lopping off the heads of molten lava-beasts had done the steel no favors. Teagan had offered to replace it for him, but they had been unable to take the time to wait for a large enough weapon to be made for him, so they had left, hoping they could find a suitable replacement from the various armorers in Denerim.

Sten chose his weapon immediately, picking a giant sword off the rack that the dwarven merchant declared his best, charging them more than Alistair would have liked to pay. But he understood the importance of a quality weapon – it was what stood between you and death when in battle. So he paid for the weapon without a single complaint, hoping the others would be willing to cough up when it came time to pay for room and board. He didn't know how _his_ coin purse had become the default for paying for everyone else, but complaining seemed a little petty, since they were accompanying _him_ in _his_ duty to stop the Blight .

"Come on," he said finally, heading toward the water. "Let's go see if Zevran and Wynne have made it yet." The directions to their lodgings were so easy even Alistair could follow them: head to the water, then south until you find the nicest building you've seen along the water. That will be the Pearl.

* * *

They got to the Pearl just to learn it was the brothel Zevran had mentioned in Redcliffe. For some reason Alistair could not fathom they decided to stay, after a rather funny moment in which Sten asked them all what a brothel was.

Zevran had proceeded to pay, out of his own coin purse, for a night of entertainment for everyone, including the giant man who immediately attracted the attention of half a dozen women of various races. They sat around him and watched his muscles ripple under his armor as he ate the meal provided to them. Zevran was off somewhere, becoming acquainted with a couple of the elven women employed here. Alistair didn't have to think hard to figure out what they were likely doing, and it only deepened his seemingly permanent blush.

He sat drinking with Morrigan and Wynne, who were both keeping up with him drink for drink, despite his probably weighing twice as much as each of them. Wynne was disapproving of their choice of accommodations at first, but a hot meal and a little wine seemed to loosen her up, and now she seemed to be enjoying herself quite nicely. She even had the attention of an employee of the establishment, a more middle-aged man with an Orlesian accent who was getting a little too touchy for Alistair's tastes.

What was confusing the hell out of him was her reaction, though. She was actually _enjoying_ the flirtatious behavior, his whispers and murmurs in her ear bringing a healthy glow to her face and neck. He was finding it harder and harder to not stare, impossible to reconcile the image of this old woman – really, not that old, not ancient or anything, but not young like the rest of his companions – flirting with a man so much younger than her. Or any man, come to think of it.

His jaw practically fell to the floor when the man quietly got up from the table, taking Wynne's hand in his own and leading her off to the hallway in the back. Wynne followed, a slight flush to her face, avoiding her companions' gazes. Morrigan, sitting next to a much quieter elven man, was led away not long after, catching Alistair's gaze for a moment. He couldn't be sure, but he would almost call that look in her eyes... defiance? Like she was daring him to say something. She was not being led by the hand – there was no tenderness between the two of them at all – but he could see the hunger as her eyes shifted back to the dark-haired man, turning to follow him into the hallway at the back of the room.

His attention was then called away from Morrigan by the woman who seemed to have taken a liking to him earlier in the evening. His gaze had made its way to her plenty of times, always drawing a smirk and a wink from her, eliciting a blush as he looked away again. Long blonde hair fell down her back, inevitably drawing his eyes to the creamy skin of her bared shoulders. She smiled at him, getting up off her stool, where she'd been speaking with the proprietress, and sauntering over to him, her hips swaying in a way that had him completely mesmerized by the time she got to where he was seated.

He swallowed, his mind curiously blank of any thoughts, and yet full of them at the same time. Or maybe just the one thought: what was he supposed to do? Wynne and Morrigan seemed to know what to do, why didn't he? He opened his mouth to say something, but could think of nothing to say, so he just shoved his mug of ale in his face, chugging the rest of it down. He didn't really know what he'd do once it was gone, but it had at least saved him in that moment.

The blonde woman chuckled, removing the mug from his lips just as he was wondering what to do with it, it now being empty and all. Her fingers slipped into his hair, her nails trailing over his scalp, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He watched, entranced, as her face, her lips, got closer and closer to him, and then they were touching hot kisses to his jaw. She trailed down his throat, making his skin too hot, sending shivers down his spine.

When she pulled back, she had his hands in hers and she was pulling him to his feet. He got up dutifully, wordlessly following her for what felt like a million years, until he was in a small bedchamber.

Suddenly he wondered if he should be doing this. Shouldn't the first time be special, with someone you cared about? Wasn't it supposed to be about love and trust?

Not like he would have an opportunity for that any time soon. He was the last of two Grey Wardens in a country facing a Blight, and he'd barely been part of the Order for six months before Ostagar. He had hoped he might strike up a romance with Leliana for a time, but she had dashed those hopes quite thoroughly, though kindly. What chance would he have for romance, for the tender touch of someone dear to him? No, this might be his one chance to lose his virginity – he decided right then to take it, to enjoy it for what it was.

Almost as soon as the door was shut, she was removing his armor with sure fingers.

Somehow, he decided that blurting the first thing he could think was a good idea. "How do you know how to do that?"

She just snickered a little. "Plenty of soldiers and mercenaries come here. It's practically part of the trade, at this point."

As she found all the straps and buckles, he wondered if he should inform her of his virginity. Sure, he had taken himself in-hand, plenty of times – what boy didn't once they figured out the mechanics? But that did not mean he was not a virgin.

Was that something she had found herself relieving these soldiers of often? How would he compare to those other men? He knew one's size was a factor, though he'd also heard once that "how you used your tool was far more important than it's size," but since he had no skill to speak of, he could only hope he measured up in other ways. And what about her? Sure, he was paying her – well, Zevran was – but he was not fool enough to think that women could not experience pleasure from sex, otherwise why in the Maker's name would they ever have it? In his opinion, it's not like men were much to look at – the sight of a naked man certainly didn't make _him_ want to rub up on them, as much as Zevran might want him to.

If anyone would be in touch enough to enjoy sex, it would be a prostitute. _ Perhaps she can teach me…_

His attention was called back as the last of his armor was freed from his body, leaving him standing before her in just cotton tunic and trousers. He felt a little stupid, didn't know what to do with his hands, or the rest of his body, for that matter. He stood there dumbly as she began to undress, hips swaying mesmerizingly as she back up slowly toward the bed, an incredibly seductive smile on her face.

When she lay back on the bedspread with not a stitch of clothing on, his arousal hit him, harder than he'd ever quite experienced before. He moved to her automatically, still unsure of what to do, but not caring quite too much anymore. The thought that this was happening, and that he lacked the good judgment – from all the alcohol – to stop it from happening, sent his blood pounding. He was powerless to stop it, allowing the woman to sit up and take his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Then her hands were on his stomach, his chest, her hot mouth following in their wake, and his inability to move was shattered. He surged forward, spilling them both on the bed as he sought her lips with his own. He was still rather awkward and fumbling, though, and so the woman rolled him over, quickly ridding him of the rest of his clothing.

Her skin felt amazing, like a fire on a cold day, or using a heated towel after a bathing in a cold river, or maybe a hot bath after days of being out in the rain and muck. She glided over him like velvet, her mouth hot against his skin as she pressed her lips to various parts of him. And the skin under his hands felt like butter: smooth, soft, almost slippery under his fingertips. He longed to grab great handfuls of her, the absurd thought of taking a bite of her mouthwatering flesh occurring to him in a moment of complete ridiculousness.

She had a wicked tongue, its heat spilling over his throat, his collarbone, his… ear? _Oh, Maker!_ She nibbled, ghosting hot breath over all the spots her wet tongue had touched. He almost didn't know what to do with himself when she took him in-hand. He never thought another would be touching him so, and the worry over how he compared to others suddenly returned. Did she find him pleasing? It was suddenly very important to him, even as she groaned and smiled into the skin of his throat.

He almost blurted out his worry, but then he was surrounded by her, enveloped in her silky heat, and he had no more thoughts to spare.

* * *

Solona traced her fingers along the scars on Leliana's shoulder. They had made love throughout the day, Solona quickly learning how to please her bard. She'd learned how to use her fingers to find that most delightful of ridges along the inside of her womanhood, how to circle the bundle of nerves in just the right way to make the redhead cry out in pleasure, and now even knew what the both of them tasted like. She liked it, and couldn't wait to try _that_ particular trick again. And tasting herself on her lover's lips? Quite possibly the single most erotic thing she'd ever experienced in her life.

Now, they lay together naked in the grass by the stream, under the partially cloudy sky, the sun lost just behind the canopy of trees. They had slept in between bouts of lovemaking, even taken a break long enough to choke down some bread and wine, a mouthful of water, before Solona had taken Leliana into her arms once more. She was finally, deliciously sated now, simply holding the smaller woman, her muscles pleasantly sore as she lay awash in memories of the day and the scent of her lover, of their lovemaking.

She had realized at some point in the day that she was absolutely in love with Leliana, and it made her heart soar. She didn't say anything, not yet, wanting to hold it in her hands and examine it when she had the chance. But just knowing was enough, for now. Just knowing that she could spend the rest of her life with the woman, after the Blight was over, fulfill her duties in peace with Leliana by her side, filled her entire chest with warmth. It didn't even matter at the moment if the bard felt the same.

Her musings were interrupted by a fat drop of water landing on her cheek. A moment later, Leliana yelped, her head coming up in surprise, her expression an adorable mixture of accusation and confusion. Another drop hit Solona's hip, and then all bets were off, and they were up and scrambling for clothes, food, the dog, as more and more drops fell. By the time they made it into their tent, laughing and shrieking, it was raining in earnest, and they were more wet than dry.

Finishing with toweling Max off, Solona turned to find Leliana watching her intently, a vaguely self-satisfied smile on her face. She raised a brow, grinning despite herself. "See something you like?"

Leliana just chuckled. "You are covered in raindrops."

Solona looked down at her skin, seeing that she was only slightly dryer than she had been after coming out of the stream. Looking back up, she shrugged, seeing that Leliana was similarly covered in drops of water, shivering slightly with the drop in temperature the evening had brought.

She grinned. "Well. I can think of something that would warm us up, maybe dry us off."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "You are insatiable!" But she reached for the mage, enfolding her in loving arms and warm, soft skin, reigniting the passion that had sustained them throughout the day.

* * *

Alistair awoke to an empty room. His armor and clothing lay neatly piled, cleaned for him overnight. He shuddered to think of someone coming while he lay bare-ass naked on the bed, but as it had already happened, there really wasn't anything he could do about it now. A basin of warmed water stood in the corner – that person really must have come in recently – so he took the opportunity to wash, letting thoughts of the night before wash over his mind as the sponge washed over his skin.

It was remarkable. He didn't even know how he might describe the experience in words. He just kept thinking that he wanted to do it again, putting the tricks she had taught him for pleasuring a woman to work as soon as possible. What would it be like with someone he really cared about, like Solona and Leliana?

An image suddenly came to him, now that he had an idea of how it might work, of exactly what it was they were doing while the rest of his companions had been here. This was quickly followed by images his other companions with their chosen bedmates, and he felt his face flush incredibly hot. He suspected he was the only one of the lot who had been a virgin before last night, though. No one else would be breaking their fast with a blushing grin on their face. No, he should really try to keep this embarrassment, and the experience itself, to himself. It was his, no one else's, and he would hold that card – how it made him feel – close to his chest. The woman he had slept with might not even know how groundbreaking an experience it was for him, but that didn't matter. The fact remained that, in a small, possibly insignificant, way, he was a changed man.

Some might even say he hadn't been a man until now, even though he'd seen battle, killed Darkspawn and bandits.

The idea that he'd killed before ever experiencing a woman's touch suddenly made him sad.

He emerged several minutes later clean, dressed, armed, and armored. He found all of his companions except Morrigan sitting at one of the tables in the common room, breaking their fast. Wynne and Zevran were bickering – well, that wasn't true. Zevran was once again trying to talk his way into the older woman's tent, and Wynne was steadfastly refusing. Sten just sat there quietly eating his weight in bacon and bread and washing it all down with a pitcher of fruit juice all to himself. Alistair wondered if the giant had partaken of any of his devotees, and what that must have been like for them – they were so small in comparison.

Morrigan appeared just as he was digging into his own meal, the young elven man she'd spent the night with following her out of the hallway and disappearing into the kitchen. Her yellow eyes immediately found his, the corners of her mouth twisting up just slightly. He wasn't really sure how to read her expression. Nor did he know what the knot that materialized in his chest when Morrigan appeared meant. But suddenly he wasn't quite so hungry.


	16. Chapter 15 - Rest

_A/N: So here we are, finally. I apologize for the break. I can only hope it was worth it, but I have no idea, as my final grades aren't out yet. But I've now moved across the country for the summer (Hello, Los Angeles and your superior-to-NYC summer weather!), am mostly recuperated from my surgery, and my brother has graduated from high school. So I'm ready to start playing games and writing again._

_This is a bit of a shorter chapter to ease us (namely me) back into the swing of things. It's mostly beta'd, but poor Diablo Kades is in the middle of her exams and hasn't had a look at the new stuff I added, but since it's all fluff anyway, whatevs. I wish her luck on her exams._

_Please let me know what you think of this!_

* * *

Chapter 15

**Rest**

"Do we really have to put clothing on?"

Leliana giggled. "Yes, silly. We cannot be walking around naked when the others arrive later. Besides, I don't know about you, but I would like to eat more than a few bites of bread this day."

Solona got a guilty look. "Sorry about that… I… just…"

Leliana hushed her, quickly replacing her finger with her lips, kissing the mage slowly, sensually, her bare skin moving smoothly over Solona's, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the mage as her arousal spiked once again. "Do not apologize," she said as she pulled away, a smile like the cat that ate the canary dancing over her lips. "I do not think I have ever had such a day filled with lovemaking, without at one point hoping my lover would fall asleep and leave me alone. But I need to replenish my strength if we are to enjoy each other again, _non_?"

Solona sighed dramatically. "Oh, yes, fine." Her stomach gave a sudden, loud growl, lasting several seconds, causing them both to freeze. Solona shifted her eyes from her stomach back up to Leliana. "Okay, perhaps you have a point after all."

Leliana laughed. She got up, pulling the mage with her, and they set about finding suitable clothing. The tent was a mess, blankets, pillows, and clothing strewn about everywhere from their earlier passions. Solona was amused to no end, delighting in the game of trying to find where her various items of clothing had made it after they had returned to the tent in the rain with armfuls of their clothing.

Several hours later, they had finished their second meal of the day. They had slept in until almost noon – something Solona hadn't done since the time she'd spent with her aunt and cousins – and now it was almost sunset. They'd had an intimate moment earlier, shedding their clothing once more to bathe, which had quickly devolved into more sex.

They were just sitting together in the water, delighting in the post-coital haze of bliss that had descended over them while holding each other, when voices drifted to them on the early evening air. Leliana looked at her with comically large eyes, and then it became a rush to get their clothing back on, a difficult task considering their drenched skin.

"So did you, or didn't you?" Alistair's voice was half-exasperated, half-amused.

Sten's voice rumbled something Solona couldn't make out. "Where the devil are my trousers," she murmured. Almost as soon as she said it, they were thrust into her hands by a topless Leliana as Alistair's voice came to them again.

"Wait, where are they? They should be here. Where are they, boy?"

"Is he smart enough to know not to lead them here?" Leliana's eyes were still huge. Solona didn't know. Mabari were incredibly smart, but Max's concept of privacy had so far been almost entirely lacking – at least until the day before. He would watch her change, cock his head to the side at her while she used the latrine, stare at her while she ate. But the day before he had kept his back to them as they coupled, curling up in the corner of the tent and snoozing. Perhaps that would continue now?

She was about to say as much, but then Alistair's voice was a little louder. "Are they by the river, boy? Why is he just looking over here? Why won't he take us to them?"

Leliana suddenly hissed at her. "Solona, I can't find my shirt!"

"Oh sod it," Solona said, striding forward as she pulled her tunic over her head. "Alistair!"

Leliana's voice sounded in a panicked whisper. "Solona! What are you doing?!"

She ignored the bard, running now. "Alistair, stop!"

She almost ran into him.

"Hey, Solona. What are you doing at the river?"

She groaned. She would find his complete innocence cute, if he hadn't been about to walk in on them. "Alistair, think about it. What would _you_ be doing if you were bathing with someone else?"

His half-smile turned into a blush as his eyes traveled to her wet hair, her disheveled clothing. He started to stammer out an apology, but Solona just patted his arm and turned on her heel.

Calling out Leliana's name revealed the woman to be crouching behind a thick tree. She was visibly upset, but came willingly into Solona's arms.

"Shhh, it's alright. He got the hint, went back to camp."

Leliana's slight tremor subsided after a minute or two, and she pulled away, wiping a single tear that had made it down her cheek.

"Leliana? What's wrong?"

Leliana frowned a little. "I didn't want Alistair to see…" She shrugged lightly.

"He's a gentleman. He would have turned around or closed his eyes or something if he'd made it here."

Leliana sighed. "Yes, but that would not make him un-see the damage, Solona."

Solona blinked for a moment, then, "Oh, Maker, I'm an idiot."

"No, you are not an idiot. I just… being able to bare myself to you, it is wonderful, but it is also new. I do not want anyone else to know, to see, not unless it's necessary for some reason. I believe you when you tell me I am beautiful, and I am content with that."

Solona nodded. "That sounds perfectly reasonable to me." She was quiet for a moment, then her lips quirked up at the corners. "I swear, that man could use his head as a hammer, he's so dense sometimes."

Leliana giggled. "His innocence is adorable, though."

"Hmph. Maybe I'm just fiercely protective of you. He _did_ have his eyes on you in the beginning."

Leliana pulled back, a smile playing across her lips, her earlier panic subsiding quickly. "And you have won in that little competition, _non_? Am I not a suitable prize for you?"

Solona furrowed her brow. "No. Well, yes, I'm happy to be with you. But I don't consider you something to be won, Leliana. You showed absolutely no interest in him, and then it was pretty clear your interest was in me. But if you had picked him, I wouldn't have tried to win you over. You are a person, Leliana, not a prize…"

Leliana sighed contentedly as she laid her head above Solona's breasts. "And that is part of what is so special about you, my Warden."

"You speak like you have been a prize before…"

Leliana's sigh was more melancholy this time. "Indeed, my Warden, I have. I am not proud of it, however; I would rather not speak of it if it is all the same to you."

Solona nodded, wrapping Leliana a little more tightly in her arms. "Whatever you want, Leli."

Leliana pushed back again, turning crystalline-blue eyes up into Solona's face, the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth. "What did you call me?"

Solona was suddenly uncertain. "… 'Leli?' I can stop calling you that if you like. It just… came to me in the moment."

Leliana's smile came back, wider than before. "No, I like it. I've never had a nickname like that. With Marjolaine it was only ever 'pretty thing' or 'my pet'…" Her smile fell a little.

"I am _not_ her," Solona stated firmly.

Leliana shook her head, her smile widening again as she reached up and threaded her fingers into Solona's hair. Solona closed her eyes to cherish the feeling of fingernails on her scalp, her small groan of pleasure swallowed as Leliana pulled her down and kissed her. When she pulled back, the bard's expression was all tenderness. "Indeed, you are very different from her, and for that I am more grateful than I can ever express." She placed a hand on Solona's cheek. "Thank you, my Warden."

She removed her hand after a moment, turning away from Solona, baring her scarred back and the curve of her waist widening into ample hips, which made Solona weak in the knees. She desperately wanted to put her hands there, continue memorizing the feel of every inch of skin, pull the bard to her using those hips, but she knew that they would never get back to the camp if she did.

"Now," Leliana said, her hands on her hips as she looked around. "Help me find my shirt, since _you_ are the one who threw it without thought for where it would land."

* * *

"Good evening, Morrigan."

Morrigan watched from the corner of her eye as Solona came to sit down next to her by her fire. "Can I help you, Warden?"

"So polite!" The Warden reached over, taking from the pile of herbs Morrigan was making healing draughts from. "You'd almost think you were in a good mood, Morrigan!"

The witch barely suppressed the smile that was lurking on her lips. She _was_ in a good mood – having a skilled partner in the bedchamber tended to do that for someone. The elf wouldn't have been her first choice, but what he lacked in body size, he more than made up for in skill – and in a second round once she had awoken to his obvious arousal. But she would not admit as much, even though she strongly suspected that Solona had gotten up to even more mischief while she was alone with the insufferable Chantry wench.

She glanced over to the main fire, seeing Leliana and Alistair speaking easily enough. How did they find it so easy, to simply _talk_ with no information being exchanged? Perhaps Flemeth did not prepare her for the world quite as well as she could have. Given what she'd found in the fake grimoire, it shouldn't surprise her – she was not preparing Morrigan for her own life; rather she was preparing her to be a suitable vessel for the old soul to reside in. She suppressed a shiver and looked back down at what she was doing.

"I am merely intrigued by what we found in the city. Aside from the filth and human waste, that is."

Solona chuckled. "There _is_ plenty of that in the city. But what else did you find?" Her hands worked with skill, shredding the roots and leaves, placing them in a spare mortar and grinding them into a paste.

Morrigan spoke as she worked. "We found the Brother's home today, spoke with his assistant. He gave a confusedly jumbled account of the Brother's departure from the city, and attacked us when pressed to clarify his story."

Solona paused, looking up at Morrigan for a moment. "He attacked you?"

Morrigan nodded. "Yes. You will be interested to find out that he was a mage of not inconsiderable skill. Imagine my own surprise," she continued, delighting in the look of shock on Solona's face, "to find an apostate assisting a Chantry Brother. But, alas, it was clear almost immediately that he was an imposter."

"How did you find out?"

"We found the _real_ assistant's rotting corpse in the back room, along with a more comprehensive set of notes from the Brother."

"That's unfortunate. What do the notes say?"

Morrigan took a healthy dollop of Elfroot paste, placing it in a flask with the other elements required, stopping it up, and giving it a vigorous shake. "He mentioned a village no one has ever heard of, nestled in the Frostback Mountains." She prepared another flask. "It will be cold, with much wandering as we attempt to find this nameless village."

Solona's brow furrowed. "I know you disapprove of this part of our journey, Morrigan. I do not need you to keep reminding me."

Morrigan pursed her lips. "Very well. I will not share my opinions with the group any longer."

Solona sighed. "That's not what I meant, Morrigan, and you know it."

She looked up at her fellow mage, eyes narrowed in distaste. "Either you wish my opinion or you do not. I do not know what it is you seek otherwise. I will not simply talk and say nothing, the way your Chantry whore does, every minute of every day."

Solona's answering retort was immediate. "Watch your tongue, _witch_."

Morrigan stopped what she was doing, glancing at her fellow mage. Solona sat stone still, the mortar and pestle not moving in her hands. She could see a spark travelling from finger to finger.

"Interesting. Did I hit a nerve?" She continued about her work. "There are secrets in that _girl_. She is hiding something."

"_That's_ what's irking you about her? Maker, Morrigan, we already _know_ she was a bard in Orlais."

Morrigan froze, looking up slowly from her work. "A bard?"

Solona shook her head in disbelief. "An Orlesian spy. Seriously, how did you not know yet?"

"Because she never bothered to talk to me with anything but disdain," Leliana called. Morrigan's eyes snapped up to see the majority of her companions staring at her. "I would have told her had she ever bothered with civility." The redhead's eyes twinkled as she smirked.

"I…" Morrigan did not know what to say. Everyone knew the woman had been a spy except for her? "How is it that you are all accepting of this?" She rounded on Solona. "She could be spying on _you_. She-"

Solona held up a hand. "_You_ are an apostate. _I_ am a fugitive twice over as an apostate and a Warden. Alistair is a Templar recruit who could be giving away all their secrets, and a Warden. Zevran is an assassin, Sten a heretic, Wynne capable of tearing out our insides, and Leliana was a bard several years ago. The only person in this group who is not considered to be dangerous is Max, and that's not even true – mabari are rumored to have such a high bloodlust that they would kill babies were it not for their minders."

"It's true," Alistair called, smirking a little. Morrigan scowled up at him. "Given the list Solona just gave you, I'd say Leliana is the least of our worries. Every person here has proven their lethality – and their sincerity."

"So calm down, Morrigan," Solona continued, setting down her work as she stood. "And if you call her a whore again, I won't even bother with magic when I thrash you."

* * *

Alistair had to get Solona on her own if he wanted to give her the item she'd requested he get her in town. He thought it was a marvelous idea, and had agreed immediately. But getting her on her own to hand it over was proving… difficult. She and Leliana were stuck so thoroughly to each other's sides that they may as well have been a tick on a dog. _Maybe Leliana's the tick? She's pretty small…_

Finally, he decided a lame excuse was better than nothing. "Solona," he called as he approached them, trying not to wonder about what all the giggles were for. "Can we talk? Alone?"

"Sure, Alistair," she answered, extricating herself from Leliana's side by the fire and following him some distance away. "What's going on?"

Alistair did not miss Leliana's curious expression. "I, uh, got the thing you wanted."

"Brilliant! Where is it?"

"In my tent. I was thinking you could sneak it out the back or something."

"Sure. Let's go."

He led her to his tent, pushing the parcel out the back for her to retrieve. He glanced over to the fire to see Leliana peering over curiously, clearly trying desperately not to simply stand and come over, and felt almost giddy with anticipation. She was going to be so surprised! It was too bad he wouldn't get to be there for the unveiling.

He left his tent once more, following Solona deep into the woods so she could check the parcel's contents without risk of anyone overseeing.

"Wow," she breathed upon opening the box. The lute was handsome, made of a dark wood that had been stained almost blood red and then polished and finished to a high gleam. Solona ran her hand over the wood, caressing the instrument almost like a lover before gently lifting it from the box.

"Denerim's a good place to get something like this," Alistair responded. "This one is beautiful, and it's not even top of the line. And I could actually afford it, since I bought it straight from the artisan, instead of an intermediary."

"It's beautiful. She's going to love it." She inspected it in the moonlight, while Alistair studied her.

There was something about her. Her eyes shone, the stress that had been pinching them completely gone. Her body was loose, and she was simultaneously energetic and sleepy-looking. They all had that demeanor, really, an indefinable _glow_ that seemed to radiate outward. Given that they had all spent the previous night enjoying a night of passion, perhaps it had something to do with that? Did people who'd had sex have a glow about them? He wouldn't know. But he figured it was a good guess.

"So, aside from the news Morrigan shared with me, what else did I miss," Solona asked him, pulling his attention from where it had been wandering. "Did you get a chance to visit your sister?"

_Drat! I forgot I told her about that_. Not that he _wouldn't_ tell her about that – not after her seeing his dream about Goldanna in the Fade. "I… yes. I did. While the others went to find Genetivi. Wynne came with me as moral support."

"And?" Solona put the lute back in its box, retying the strings to keep it shut tight.

"It… didn't go well." _That's an understatement._

"Did she not believe you?"

Alistair sighed. He owed her the truth, after everything she'd told him about her own shit family situation. "She blamed me for our mother's death before extorting me for money."

"That's horrible!" Solona exclaimed, staring at him incredulously. "Did you give it to her?"

"I… might have, had Wynne not been there with me. She made sure I saw that, while her situation – four children and no husband – was unfortunate, it wasn't my fault. She's managing okay as a laundress, while I am fighting the Blight."

"Damn. There's no way around it, Alistair – that is the shits."

He snorted. "You really do have a way with words, Solona." He paused, shaking his head before continuing. "Maybe once this is all over, I can look her up again, see about finding a better situation for her. We can get to know each other, maybe be a family. I could get to know my nieces and nephews." He paused again, thinking for a moment. "It's weird to think about, that I have nieces and nephews."

"Isn't it?" She stretched, plucking her box up off the ground and beginning to walk back to camp. "I have a brother and a sister, twins to each other. They'll be adults in another year or two."

He fell into step beside her. "How did they react when you showed up at home?"

She shrugged. "They didn't know who I was. Apparently my parents act as though they never had me – part of why they left Lothering: everyone there knew of their first child who had been taken away to the Circle. Nobody in Denerim knew, including their new children."

"That's terrible!"

She shrugged again. "It's how it is, I suppose. Anyway, my brother and sister seemed to like me alright. We played some games, and they took me out to the market while I was there, asked me all kinds of questions. I imagine we would have gotten on alright if my parents hadn't panicked that night."

"Well. Maybe once this is all over, we can both get to know our families a little. You said they'll be adults soon, right? No need to put up with your parents when you see them next."

"Maybe," Solona said, a somewhat sad smile on her face. They returned to camp in a companionable silence after that, sharing a bond in their mutual sense of loss, the loss of something neither of them had truly even had: a family.

* * *

"I got you something."

Leliana roused herself, having just started to drift off, and lifted her head from Solona's stomach, peeking up at the mage through her disheveled hair. They'd made love once more, and now lay together, the sweat from their earlier exertions just starting to dry.

"Oh?"

Solona smiled down at her. "Yes. Do you want it now?"

"Of course I do!" Really! What kind of question was that? Of _course_ she wanted it now!

Solona chuckled. "Well, here you go, then."

The Warden shifted, causing Leliana to move off of her. She sat up, admiring the way the mage's body stretched as she reached for something in the corner of the tent. There wasn't a lot of light – just the orange glow through the canvas from the fire – but it was enough to appreciate the body she had just spent an hour enjoying. Her attention was brought back by the box, though. _How did she manage to sneak that in here without me noticing?_

"When did you get me something?"

Solona smiled, handing it over. "I asked Alistair to pick it up for me in the city. It seemed like the most likely place we would find something like it. He gave it to me earlier when we went off into the woods to talk."

"I had wondered what that was all about," Leliana admitted. "In fact I almost died of curiosity when you didn't offer to explain." She scrutinized the box in her lap. What in the world could it be?

"Well," Solona said, displaying her impatience. "Open it!"

She giggled, pulling on the strings and freeing the lid of the box. And then she promptly let out a squeak of shock.

Inside the box was a most beautiful lute. A dark wood, likely stained red, though she would need better light to know for sure, with strings of the highest caliber – she could tell by feel – and a full body that promised a deep, full sound with the plucking of each string.

She pulled the instrument from its wrappings, immediately pulling it into her lap and giving the strings a test. They were out of tune, but not terribly so, and the tone quality was lovely, immediately bringing to mind that healing time she spent with Sister Rose. She smiled as her fingers immediately picked out a simple tune, her fingers recalling how to play it before her mind had a chance to remember that it had been years since she had played. She would need to build up her calluses again, but this was a welcome thing: the most marvelous gift, with no strings attached except for the literal kind, that she had ever received.

"So you like it then?"

She looked up to see Solona with her knees drawn into her chest. Clearly she had been unsure how this gift would be received.

"_Oui_," she said simply, gently setting the instrument back in its box and setting it aside. "It is lovely, and the most wonderful thing I think I have ever been given."

"I-"

Leliana never heard whatever Solona was going to say. She pounced the second the instrument was set safely aside, kissing her fiercely, showing her gratitude with her lips, tongue, and fingers.

* * *

_Yay? Nay? Lemme know how you feel seeing this story back._

_Also: it does not surprise me one bit that the last chapter, with all the smut in it, has the most views (beside the prologue) of any other chapter in this story. Perverts._


	17. Chapter 16 - The Road to Haven

_A/N: Not much to say here. I'm glad I'm able to pick up right where I left off with this. I was worried I would have lost the feel for the characters, started writing them differently or lose interest or something, but I'm happy to say that I have not._

_A little bit of action in this one, plus a little bit of fluff. And some steaminess there at the beginning. Let me know what you think. I **really** wanna know how y'all feel about where this thing these two is headed._

* * *

Chapter 16

**The Road To Haven**

Solona started to undress, glad to be rid of her armor after an entire day plus several hours' watch. She stopped for a moment when her eyes came to rest on Leliana, sleeping beautifully in her nightshirt on their joint double pallet. In that time before they were lovers, even after their attraction to each other had been made known, they would keep their bedrolls separate, letting Max stretch out between them. Often they would fall asleep in each other's arms, smashed onto one pallet for the majority of the night, but the option of sleeping apart was still there, keeping pressure off, making it clear that neither had any expectations of the other.

Solona had come to bed the night after their intimate relationship had started to find that Leliana had set up their things like this. Solona had just grinned and taken the woman into her arms the moment she'd come to bed, making for a very satiated, and very tired, bard the next morning.

And it had been that way ever since. Not that it had been that long. Just two weeks, really, and yet it felt like it had always been this way. Solona sometimes felt guilty, reaching for Leliana as often as she did. In fact, thinking back, there had not been a single night they had not made love since Denerim. She was quickly learning that the infamous "Grey Warden stamina" was a real thing – she was unfortunately outpacing her lover, and should probably try to give the poor woman a break soon.

Changing out of her clothing and pulling a loose-fitting linen nightshirt over her head, she laid down next to the bard, trying not to disturb her, and yet completely unable to not give her at least a peck on the cheek. This, of course, led to her softly burying her face in the bard's hair, smelling her glorious scent, and then she had her face buried in the bard's neck, and all bets were off, because Leliana was a light sleeper and Solona had woken her up.

"Mmmm," Leliana purred, stretching and wrapping her arms around Solona's neck. "Your watch is over?"

Solona nodded, pushing her face further into Leliana's throat, eliciting a soft giggle from the bard.

"Good. I missed you, and I had plans for you this night." Then the bard's deceptively strong hands (all of her really was so much smaller than Solona) were tugging insistently at Solona's nightshirt, and then it was off and being flung to another part of the tent. Solona tried to look down into those piercing blue eyes, which she could barely see a hint of in the dark, but Leliana had other ideas.

Solona was on her back in a heartbeat, the bard crawling on top of her, straddling her hips and tugging on her own nightshirt. Solona groaned softly when Leliana's skin was against her own, the fiery-red thatch of hair covering her sex pressing against the mage in a way that made her blood boil; and then they were kissing, the bard's soft tongue probing past Solona's lips and dancing nimbly inside her mouth.

Solona's hands found the bard's hips, pulling the other woman to her and grinding up with her own hips. The feel of the woman's hot skin against her own, their breasts pressed together, the taste of peppermint and the soft warmth of sleep on her tongue, all combined to stoke the ever-present coals of her lust into a raging inferno.

When Leliana's hand began to drift between them, seeking out the mage's sex, Solona stiffened. That newly familiar feeling of fingers dancing across her skull, tickling in an entirely uncomfortable way, chased away all traces of her desire in seconds.

Leliana, still on top of her, froze in place, whispering into her ear, "What is it, Solona?"

"Darkspawn."

And she was off, pushing Leliana up and finding her feet. Locating the ties at the tent's entrance, she grabbed her staff and tore the flap open, disappearing through it without a single glance at her naked lover.

* * *

Zevran took a seat near Wynne, who eyed him suspiciously. He grinned lasciviously, scooting closer.

"Why do you plague me so, Zevran?"

"Why do you continue to spurn my advances, Wynne?"

Wynne rolled her eyes. "Really, the fact that we drew watch together is the Maker's punishment. I'm not sure what for yet…"

"Perhaps it is punishment for the handsome man you took to your bed at the Pearl?"

Wynne's expression, a mixture of embarrassment and shock, was priceless, but she recovered quickly enough, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. "I thought you kept insisting I am not too old for such things. So which is it, hmm?"

Zevran opened his mouth to reply, but found himself in the entirely unique position of not having a comeback. It was true, he _had_ been insisting she was much younger and sprier than she claimed, that she deserved a talented bed partner who didn't need arcane power in order to create magic between the sheets. It had just surprised him that she would so unashamedly go to bed with a whore, given her motherly tendency to act as the conscience of the group as a whole.

"_Touché_, my dear Wynne." Not to be outdone, his eyes and mouth crinkled up in a mischievous smile. "I take it this was not your first time, then?"

Wynne scoffed. "Of all the… Of course not!"

Zevran chuckled, and, not being one to leave a mystery unsolved, he continued. "So romance in the Tower, is it? Or was it before you joined the Circle?"

"I joined the Circle when I was nine, so no," Wynne retorted.

"Romance with the magi it is!" He thought for a moment, realized he didn't know something. "Mages are allowed to marry, right? You seem like the type who would have married…"

"And what sort of man would marry a mage, do you think?"

"Another mage, perhaps? I was at the Tower – there were plenty of men there. Or are you the type to seek lady love like our fair Warden?" He said the last with a wink.

Wynne shook her head and sighed, her entire demeanor changing to one of melancholy. "A union between mages is… not encouraged, to say the least. However, that does not stop us from seeking out each other's… company, from time to time."

Suddenly her unabashed sex with a talented Orlesian prostitute made a great deal of sense, if that was the type of sexual encounters that filled her past.

When she continued, he listened carefully. "That was all it was safe to indulge in. I learned that lesson the hard way, unfortunately."

"Oh?"

She smiled slightly, sadly. "I fell in love with a man, a Templar in the Circle. We would meet in secret, coupling furtively in the middle of the night. I… was not very careful."

Zevran peered at her. "You became pregnant?" This was unusual territory for him. He felt much like he might with a feral cat that was only just willing to let him pet it – if he moved too suddenly, he might spook her, and then he would never get her to open up again.

She just nodded, sitting on the log next to him with her chin in her hands, her elbows on her knees, staring toward the trees, though Zevran strongly suspected her eyes were not focused on anything.

He opened his mouth to say something, coax more from her, but he would never get the opportunity. At that precise moment, a very naked Solona came bursting from the tent she shared with the bard, staff in-hand and eyes already glowing fiercely. The firelight gleamed over her lithe body, showing exactly what the months of travelling and sparring every night had done for her previously soft form. Energy crackled along her skin, threatening to spill over to her enemies, and they weren't even in sight yet.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Trouble, Warden?"

"Darkspawn," she stated, calmly but firmly, in that many-layered voice that was so disconcerting. She headed off in what Zevran could only assume was the direction she sensed the beasts, leaving himself and Wynne to rouse the others. He was on his feet immediately, his earlier flirtations and conversation put on hold, but not forgotten. He pulled his two long daggers, taking off at a run, trusting Wynne to wake the others from their slumber. A second later, the dog was outpacing him, a howl that turned one's blood to ice escaping him as he ran.

Another heartbeat, and he saw them, likely drawn to the group by the same connection that allowed the Wardens to sense the creatures. It was one of the largest groups they had encountered, maybe twenty, with two of the tall, strong ones – hurlocks, were they called? – amongst their smaller counterparts. He hoped the others got here soon, because he and Solona were good, but they weren't _that_ good. Especially with Solona running around so _marvelously_ unarmored.

The sounds of snarling filled his sensitive ears, and he was not sure if it was the dog or the Darkspawn. He flew past Solona, who was already hurling flame in the direction of those who outflanked their comrades, eluding her spell and throwing himself into the fray in an entirely uncharacteristic manner. He was normally not a front-line fighter, preferring to skirt the edges of a fight, causing damage unseen. But there were only three of them, the most powerful of whom was completely naked. They needed what muscle he could provide.

His first opponent he dropped with little trouble, side-stepping the creature and plunging his dagger into the vulnerable armpit that had opened up to him as it reared back to strike. His other blade took it in the throat while it flinched from the first wound, and he was moving past it before it had even hit the ground. He dropped to the ground himself, a sword narrowly missing his neck as he rolled under the weapon. He immediately reached up, plunging his blade into a vulnerable spot on his attacker's thigh, suddenly wishing he wasn't directly underneath it as a wash of dark, thick blood that stank of the creature fell upon him.

He yanked his blade and pushed himself up, knocking the thing to the ground once he found his feet, chancing a glance around. In the distance he saw a half-naked, barefoot Alistair running with only his sword and trousers, an even more naked Qunari – loincloth only – pounding the ground with unadorned feet behind him. Even further in the distance was Leliana, dressed in a nightshirt, taking aim with her bow, Wynne and Morrigan at her side, already incanting. He had only a moment to take in these details, his elven ears telling him to turn as an enemy closed on him.

Spinning, he took in the sight of one of the hurlocks, which seemed a giant compared with Zevran's somewhat diminutive height. He didn't have much time to contemplate his strategy, or anything else but its height, as its fist came barreling into his face not a second after his eyes focused upon it, halting any strategizing he might have done. Stars exploded in his vision, and then he felt the ground connect with the back of his head. The fact that he fell probably saved his life, though, as he heard the whir of a blade slicing through the air where his body had been not a moment before.

Still dazed, he pushed himself up into a crouch, swiping his leg out to take the hurlock's feet out from under it. His foot connected hard – he would have a bruise on the front of his ankle from it – and the creature went down. Zevran threw himself on top of it, slicing its throat before it had a chance to compose itself.

Pushing himself to his feet, he was off, barely noting the taste of salty blood from his broken nose dripping into his mouth, open to accommodate his heavy breathing. Ahead of him, Alistair hit a creature in the face with the pommel of his sword, being too close to actually skewer it, and having grabbed no belt-knife when he came running to fight. Zevran hamstrung the thing as he ran past them, noting with a sort of grim satisfaction the strangled cry as the Warden took the opening and ran the creature through.

He ran to engage another opponent, but was stopped just as he reached it by a terrible pain lancing through his body. He couldn't move, couldn't control his limbs, and yet they moved wildly, his arms seizing, his hands in a death grip on his daggers, his knees and jaw locking up. He felt like he was in the worst drugged episode of his life, a wild energy coursing through his body, demanding he run, fly, jump, and yet unable to do a thing.

Just as suddenly as it began, it fled, and the last thing he was aware of before darkness took him was a normally sweet voice calling his name in a panicked shout.

* * *

Wynne watched as the stream of lightning left Solona's staff, frying the last few standing Darkspawn in place. But something was wrong; a flash of blonde hair standing on end had her shouting at Solona to stop while running for her – Zevran was caught in the spell's path!

Leliana was there first, shouting Solona's name as she ran before finally slamming into the naked mage with all her strength and momentum. Solona stumbled, the spell breaking, releasing her dying victims. She turned, eyes flashing and a grimace of anger on her face, but Leliana just reached a hand up and slapped the mage as hard as she could. Solona shook her head clear, her eyes losing their dangerous glow as they focused upon her lover.

"Zevran was caught in the path of your spell," Leliana explained, her voice shaky. Wynne continued past them, letting Leliana continue to explain while she assessed the damage.

Alistair drove his sword into the last dying Darkspawn, wiping the blade clean and sheathing it quickly. He made to go to Zevran's side, but Wynne beat him there, calling his name as she kneeled to check for a pulse – which he miraculously had.

"Get him to his tent, but move him as little as necessary," Wynne ordered, getting up and watching Alistair and Sten pick him up as gingerly as possible.

Once she was convinced they were being careful enough, she whirled on Solona. "You! How could you be so careless?!"

Solona stared back at her for a moment, her eyes filled with horror and remorse, before dropping her staff, turning tail, and bolting into the trees.

"_Merde_," Leliana murmured, simply standing and watching the mage run off.

"She can't run away from her problems," Wynne sniffed, fighting the urge to let her anger drain away into sympathy for the girl. She _knew_ her fellow mage had trouble controlling her magic. She had described finding that if she gave in too completely, she felt nothing but animal instinct, had a hard time distinguishing friend from foe on the battlefield. Wynne had hoped that all the sparring while channeling that energy would help, and perhaps it had, but clearly not enough. She had to be more careful if she was going to be wielding powerful spells that could have such widespread, devastating effects.

Ultimately, she lost the battle with her anger, her memories of what it felt like to lose control when she was young winning out against her ire. It was so easy to forget how _young_ Solona was – she'd been through her Harrowing only a few months before, and then she was whisked away from the Circle immediately and thrust into battle with the most dreadful of creatures. On top of that, she had this new power that no one had encountered in centuries, and Wynne was the only person around to help her tame it. Morrigan was present, as well, but the witch was certainly not interested in helping Solona _tame _anything.

"I am sorry, Leliana. You should go find her."

"I will." The bard sighed, looking down at herself. "Perhaps I will change first, get her a change of clothing as well. Max will take me to her, right boy?"

The dog had been staring and whining in the direction Solona had gone, but refocused his attention on her and chuffed agreeably at her query.

She followed the bard back to camp, moving to Zevran's tent immediately. She passed Sten heading back to the site of battle, reaching for the tent flap just as it opened to reveal Alistair. He mumbled something about disposing of the Darkspawn corpses, holding the flap open for her as she made her way inside. She made a note to herself to check the two unadorned melee warriors for injuries once she was through with the elf.

He was breathing shallowly, still unconscious. She set about removing his cuirass, slicing the leather straps along his sides and pulling it out from under him. Then she opened his shirt to reveal his chest, again with the sharp knife required for herb lore. His skin, normally quite tan, was pale under the light from her staff. She smoothed his hair from his face and prepared herself to assess the full extent of the damage.

Placing a hand on his chest, she reached her awareness out, focusing her energy in each of his major systems before moving on. All in all, she was surprised to find, he was remarkably undamaged, his main injuries an irregular heartbeat and burns to his skin in a pattern that looked like lightning where the electricity entered his body – on his chest, directly under her hand. The burn she could fix quickly, but the heart arrhythmia required more immediate attention.

"Forgive me, Zevran," she murmured, summoning the words for a quick jolt of lightning, letting it jump from her fingers to his chest, directing it straight to his heart.

The elf seized for a moment, his chest lifting up off his bedroll, pushing at her hand, and then he fell back. The burn on his chest was worsened considerably, blistering and cracking, but the heartbeat immediately smoothed. She smiled, noting his serene expression, something she hadn't seen since they recovered together in the Chantry at Redcliffe. Summoning the familiar spell, she murmured the words, pouring healing energy into his skin, watching as the reddened and weeping tissue was relieved, his breathing easing considerably as the pain and swelling was reduced. His broken nose she mended immediately after, first wrenching it back into place and then coaxing the internal tissues to mend, the inflamed areas to calm.

She watched him for a moment, letting her mind wander a little. It came to the story that Zevran had slowly been coaxing out of her. She had felt like she shouldn't be telling him her secrets, and yet, when he asked, it was like trying to hold back a waterfall, the story spilling from her, her hesitation stemming only from her good judgment trying to war with her emotions.

Her heart ached momentarily to think of the man she'd been telling the elf about: his dark, curly locks; his warm, sweet breath in her ear; his large hands encircling her waist as he pulled her to him. They had only lain together a handful of times before it became clear that she was pregnant, that she had not been careful enough. She had panicked then – the herbs that prevented a pregnancy did not halt one, and she would be found out. But, at the same time, it had warmed her heart, to think of bearing that remarkable man's child. She had dreamed of a normal life with him, raising their child and taking him to her bed when he returned home at night.

That impossibility would never be, however. In the end they were found out, her love being sent away during her pregnancy, her son being swept away from her while she dealt with the afterbirth. She hadn't even gotten to hold him, to name him. She had dealt with the discomfort of breasts that ached to feed a child her body had nurtured for almost ten months, physically and emotionally yearning for her lost child, her lost lover. She hoped he was all right, was weathering the Blight somewhere safe. She hoped they both were.

She was pulled from her introspection by a slight groan, and when she refocused her eyes, she saw Zevran opening his. His eyes were deep pools of black in the soft light from her staff, currently leaned up in the corner of the tent. They focused upon her face, her eyes, almost as soon as they opened, and she felt as though he were looking straight into her soul. She found his hand on her cheek, and for an insane moment she felt an almost overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss him, but it swiftly passed, leaving her feeling confused, but in control of herself.

"Welcome back," she said, unable to keep the smile from her face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was seized by a coughing spell before he could utter a word. She hastened to sit him up, lifting his water skin to his lips once the coughing subsided some, urging him to drink slowly.

"Ah, but what a lucky man I am to be tended to by such a comely wench," he breathed, his eyes twinkling at her. "I see you could not even wait for me to wake up before tearing my clothes off."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm glad to see you're feeling yourself, Zevran. Even after being struck by lightning."

"Is that what makes me feel as though a house is sitting on my chest?"

"The pressure will ease with rest. There is only so much I can heal, and your heart suffered greatly, and along with it your lungs. The skin on your chest…" His hand stole to her hand, which had strayed to his chest again as she spoke of his injuries. She continued, a little distracted now as he looked down at their hands. "The skin was easy enough to heal, but your chest will be sore for a few days, until the bruising has a chance to heal on its own."

She was about to go into an explanation of why – healing spells healed broken tissue and bone, yet could not siphon off the released blood present in a bruise, could not ease the pressure from it – but stopped short when he gently lifted her hand from his chest, grazing his lips across her knuckles.

She felt herself blush slightly, feeling like she had all those years ago, when her Templar love was wooing her. She had not had this kind of attention since. Her blush only deepened when he spoke, his dark eyes once more looking into hers. "Thank you, my dear Wynne. What would I do without you?"

He had not released her hand, and she found it… distracting. Far easier to deal with was his lechery, his constantly pestering her for access to her bed – or her bosom – than this honest affection. His gentleness, his tenderness, was almost enough to push her into his arms. But she told herself that it was just the night, and the pain and unconsciousness he had suffered, and she resisted the temptation, knowing she would thank herself in the morning.

She smirked as she answered him. "Pester someone else, I imagine."

He released her, smiling as he looked down at his equipment. "It looks like I will have quite a few repairs to make. And Darkspawn blood to clean."

"Take off your tunic, and I will wash and mend it for you. The armor you'll have to do yourself, but you'll at least have something to cover your skin while we travel."

His eyes twinkled. "So quick to remove the rest of my clothes, Wynne? How could I refuse?"

A gentle smack to his shoulder later and she was exiting his tent, tunic in-hand, a smile seemingly permanently etched on her face.

* * *

Leliana followed Max through the trees, leaving Alistair and Sten to pile the dead Darkspawn into a pyre far away from camp. She carried a tunic and trews in her arms, having grabbed them after hurriedly donning her own, forgoing boots in favor of speed. Max had stayed at her command, even though he had literally quivered while looking in the direction in which his master had disappeared. She'd felt silly explaining to a dog that they would go to her after grabbing her clothes, but he'd seemed to understand, at least enough to wait for her.

She had exchanged hot words with Morrigan, the witch telling her to "go fetch Solona like a good little harlot," and it had taken all of her willpower not to attack the woman outright. Even the knowledge that Morrigan could thoroughly trounce her wasn't what stopped her, only the need to find Solona truly _enough_ to keep her temper in check.

Ten minutes after leaving the camp they found her in a small clearing, standing stock-still in the moonlight. Despite her worry, Leliana couldn't help but take a moment to admire the way the soft light from the moon fell on Solona's smooth skin, highlighting the curves of her body, and her muscles, by throwing the dips into deep shadow. Her hair shone like a halo in the light, the muscles in her back and arms, buttocks and legs, seeming to be caught in a ripple, as though she had been moving, but frozen in place midway through whatever movement she was attempting.

The spell was broken when Max began to whine, leading Leliana slowly forward as he called his master's attention to them. Solona turned, frowning slightly when her eyes landed on Leliana, the remorse from earlier still pouring out.

She didn't know what to say, so she held out the bundle in her arms. "I brought you some clothing." Solona nodded, taking it from her and pulling it on quickly. Then she just stood there, looking down at Leliana with that same frown on her face, one hand absently scratching at Max's head. The big dog grunted, turning his head this way and that to get Solona on the right spot, and Leliana couldn't help but smile at the display.

"Is Zevran okay?"

Leliana looked back up to the mage, cursing herself for a fool for not having anticipated that concern. "He lives, though I left before speaking with Wynne. She did not seem overly worried, however; if I had to guess, he will be in some pain for a time, but there is no lasting damage."

"That's good." Her voice was quiet, almost choked. _She's been crying_, Leliana realized, and immediately she was taking the mage into her arms, their height difference compensated for by the taller woman's hunched shoulders as she hung her head until their cheeks were touching. The mage's arms twined about her shoulders, holding on to her like she was the only thing keeping her from drowning. It made Leliana's heart ache.

"How could I do such a thing, Leliana?" Solona's voice was hoarse, and Leliana could hear her breathing through her mouth, her nose probably stopped up from tears. "I didn't even see him there, I couldn't see a difference between my friends and my enemies!"

"Shhh, Solona, it will be alright. You will learn more." She kissed the hair poking into her face, laying her cheek against the mage's. "Everybody makes mistakes when they fight. Zevran didn't announce himself, even though he knew what devastating power you employ, and how close to your most potent range he was entering. And he should know this by heart, as he's the one who got you to realize that power in the first place."

"That doesn't excuse what I did," the mage countered.

"No," Leliana agreed, "but it does give you something to think on, something to picture when the animal tendencies take over. I believe they can be overcome, and if anyone can do it, you can."

The mage didn't respond, and Leliana could only stand the fraught silence for so long before she felt compelled to break it, hoping to call Solona's attention away from her inner turmoil. "I'm sorry I slapped you."

A snort. "I completely deserved it. I'm sorry that's what it took to bring me back to myself."

"Some people enjoy a little rough handling," Leliana joked, hoping to lighten the mood, maybe remind the mage what they had been up to before the attack.

Another snort. "And I thought _I_ was insatiable."

Leliana giggled. "Come, my Warden. Let's go back to camp and check on our favorite assassin, yes?"

Solona sighed, pulling back and pushing the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Alright. I suppose I can't run away and hide like a child forever."

"No, you cannot," Leliana agreed, her eyes softening as she took the mage's hand in her own. "But I do not blame you. I did so, as well, when I hid in the Chantry."

The mage's eyebrows furrowed. "Wanting to serve the Maker isn't childish, Leliana."

"True, but I'm starting to think that it was more than that. I wanted to serve the Maker, yes, but I also wanted to hide, take on a new identity – get as far away as I could from the life I'd led."

Solona lifted Leliana's hand, kissing the back of it before threading their fingers together. "Well, perhaps we can both stop hiding."

Leliana smiled. "That would be lovely, my Warden. Now, really, we should return," she said, tugging lightly on the mage's hand and calling Max to their side. "There is much to do, and if I remember correctly, I left something unfinished before you left."


	18. Chapter 17 - Haven

_A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks. I had this all ready to go, then decided to rewrite it. And by "it" I mean, like, three or four chapters. So it took me a bit to catch up. Add to that the fact that the time difference between me and Diablo Kades is now seven hours, and you get some delays. But hopefully I make up for it by giving you something good to read?_

_Let me know what you think. _

* * *

Chapter 17

**Haven**

Her mother placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of her.

"Thank you, Mother."

A hand at her cheek. "You are welcome, child."

She tucked into the food with gusto, soaking up what was left in the bowl at the end with a hearty bread baked fresh that morning. She was terribly thirsty, and went for the wineskin, which reminded her of Leliana, of getting tipsy around a campfire. When she asked where Leliana was, her mother just knit her brow.

"Who is Leliana?"

Solona was confused. "I… You never met her…"

Just then, the Templars burst through the door, taking her by each limb and dragging her outside. She kicked and screamed, fighting the whole way, but it did no good, and she was taken away, her mother standing in the doorway, smiling in triumph. Her siblings skipped around the men, singing songs about magic and death.

Then her brother and sister were genlocks, and the men holding her hurlocks. She fought harder, kicking with her legs, trying to incant a spell of fire, but all to no avail.

Suddenly a giant dragon's head appeared before her; she was facing the archdemon.

She awoke to sunlight trying to filter through the canvas wall of the tent. She was confused for a moment. Ever since coming into her power, these dreams that seemed so real had been happening. She was getting really good at figuring out they were not the real thing, but it was always disorienting to wake from them. It was like her connection to the Fade had become stronger since embracing her power, which she supposed made a strange kind of sense, since that power allowed her to enter the Fade all on her own, without the aid of lyrium. Not that she had entered the Fade since her encounter at Redcliffe…

It took a moment for her to figure out where she was, and when she did, she immediately noticed that Leliana was _not_ lying naked in her arms. She sat up abruptly, smacking stupidly a few times at the spot next to her where Leliana had been every morning she was not on watch, with her beautiful breasts and full hips, her kisses and caresses and embraces.

A giggle brought her to her senses. "I am right here, silly."

Solona shook her head, her vision coming fully into focus. What was revealed to her just made her grin: Leliana sitting naked in front of a propped-up hand mirror. Her arms were up, her hands doing something with her hair, and she was twisted around to look at Solona. Her blue eyes sparkled, and, with her arms stretched the way they were, her breasts looked so enticing that Solona had no choice but to propel herself forward, practically tackling the bard as she pressed her face into those delectable pillows of flesh.

Leliana let out a slight yelp and began immediately smacking Solona's shoulders. "Unhand me, beast! I was trying to do something, and now you've ruined it!"

Solona let go reluctantly, allowing Leliana to roll off of her and sit back up. "Sorry."

Leliana glared, the hint of a smile on her lips. "No you're not."

Solona grinned. "That's true." She propped herself up on her elbows to watch. "What are you doing?"

Leliana sighed, examining her hair this way and that as she worked different pieces of it. "My hair is growing out, and while I can do many things, I can't cut it myself. I need to find someone who can, but in the meantime it is getting very hot, and I would like to get it out of my face and off of my neck. I was hoping it was long enough for a braid, but I was apparently wrong." She made a frustrated sound and ran her fingers through her hair, undoing the bit of plait she had started.

Solona sat up and held out her hands. "Come here, I'll do it for you."

Leliana raised an eyebrow, showing her skepticism. "_You_ know how to do an Orlesian braid?"

Solona smirked. "What else do you think a bunch of girls locked in a Tower together do with their spare time? We certainly weren't _rutting_." _If we were, I might not have been in such a hurry to leave…_

Leliana made a small sound of shock, unable to keep the smile from her lips any longer. "Such _language_, Solona!" Then she giggled. "And picturing you with a gaggle of girls, braiding hair and gossiping, is difficult to do. Though perhaps that's where your romantic tendencies developed?"

Solona's smirk turned into a full-on grin. She winked at the bard, getting to her knees and reaching for the other woman. She pulled the bard into her arms, kissing her deeply before setting her down and getting to work.

Leliana's hair was indeed too short for a single braid, so Solona did two of them, making two symmetrical ridges that came together a bit at the nape of the bard's neck. When she was through, Leliana sat examining the job with a small smile of wonder on her face.

"I'm pretty good at it. Good enough to do my own hair when no one else was available."

Leliana met her eyes in the mirror. "I often forget that you had long hair for so long before I ever met you," she said as she patted her hair, testing its ability to stay in place. Then she dropped her hands and turned, studying Solona. "The short hair just suits you so well."

Solona shrugged. "Sometimes I miss it, but mostly I like it better this way. Perhaps you should grow _yours_ out – then I can have the convenience of short hair, but also get to play with yours." She winked at the last, earning her a small laugh from the bard. Then Leliana was kissing her, and Solona tried to capture her, make them late for the morning. But the bard pulled away, laughing at Solona's frustrated grunt.

"I am afraid I am out of commission for a few days, my Warden," she said, stroking her fingers through the mage's hair. "My courses started this morning – that was why I was up so early." She studied her lover for a moment, peering at her thoughtfully. "You haven't experienced yours once while we've travelled together, have you? Is it because you've lost so much weight?"

Solona frowned. "I actually stopped bleeding _before_ I lost all my body fat."

"Oh? You did not say…"

"It's… well actually, I don't know if it happens to all Grey Wardens. Alistair said Wardens have a very difficult time having children once they're initiated, so I always assumed it was due to being a Warden, but there were no women Wardens when I was initiated. And they all died the day after my Joining, anyway."

"No one told you what to expect?"

Solona shrugged. "Like I said, there weren't any other women around. Men don't usually know much about women's bodies, I find…"

"This is true. Most men know only that we bleed, and that we can become pregnant."

Solona sighed, pulling Leliana to her shoulder and kissing her newly braided hair. "One more mystery Loghain landed us with." She paused, then, "Balls."

Leliana giggled, kissing the mage before pushing herself up. "Come, my Warden. Let us go and see what trouble we can get ourselves into this day."

* * *

Solona watched as the hawk circled lower, landing not five feet in front of her. A shimmer engulfed it, growing larger until it faded, revealing a very naked Morrigan. Solona held out the witch's clothes and boots, being careful to look only at her face, turning her back once the witch had taken her things.

"You do not need to avert your eyes so," Morrigan stated, pulling her shirt over her head. "It would not bother me if you found my body pleasing and observed it."

Solona smirked. "It might not bother _you_, but I can assure you it would bother Leliana _very_ much."

"And do you often let your woman dictate what you can and cannot do?" As always, Morrigan's tone held more than a little bite.

Solona sighed. "It is not about letting her dictate what I do. It is about respect. We have committed to be with only each other: it is out of respect that I do not ogle other women. It is also out of respect for _you_ that I do not openly, lecherously watch you change your clothing."

"I… had not thought of that. I am unused to hiding my body at all; with only my mother around, it was hardly necessary to have… I believe the word is modesty?"

"I can see that. I grew up around many people, and in most societies, people cover their bodies to some degree, sharing it only with those of the same sex, and with the people they couple with. As those two groups are the same for me, I would rather err on the side of caution than make someone uncomfortable."

"Very well. It is interesting. There is so much Mother failed to teach me."

"And we now know that it is because she wasn't preparing _you_ for anything."

"Indeed," Morrigan sniffed. She then walked around in front of Solona fully dressed.

"Excellent. Now. Did you find anything?"

"Yes. I found what is likely the village we are searching for."

"You did? That's great news! But, just so I know, how can you be sure?"

Morrigan did a fair imitation of Solona, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out one hip. "I could not fly so high in that form without being blown off course, but there is obviously some kind of temple high up above the village. I cannot imagine there is more than one uncharted village below a mountaintop temple."

Solona snorted. "Fair enough. Come on, let's go tell the others."

They were camped at the base of the mountain that Morrigan had just flown up. They had been on the road for another month, almost – the hottest month of the summer, it seemed, though Solona knew it would get hotter – and more humid – before it cooled off into autumn. And yet they could not shed their armor, could not grow complacent, for Darkspawn were about. Small bands of the creatures had wandered up along the mountain range, probably finding every place Ferelden and the dwarves of Orzammar did not regularly patrol, searching for food and causing chaos. This likely meant that every small village along the Hinterlands and edge of the Wilds had been overrun. But the larger garrisons north of that should keep these scavenging parties at bay until winter, when they would retreat into the Deep Roads to join the rest of their army amassing there.

Solona and Alistair were both sure that the next invasion could not come until the next thaw. Neither of them could cite precisely why, but their impressions from their nightmares of the archdemon were the same: it was frustrated that it could not invade, that it needed to bide its time after the catastrophe at Ostagar, ready more troops. They clung to this, as there was no way they themselves would be ready for an invasion until after the next thaw at the earliest. There was too much to do, too much ground to cover, and too many people calling them traitors, for them to be ready before winter, especially with this excursion to try to cure Eamon. As it was, they would likely be on the road in the snow, but they tried to avoid thinking about that.

Once they'd reached the base of the mountain range, Morrigan had pulled her aside and revealed that she was a shape shifter. Solona had been incredibly frustrated, yelling at the witch for a minute before Morrigan had undressed with a huff and, with a single word, shifted into a hawk and launched into the air. She had come back more than a half hour later, giving Solona time to calm down. When Morrigan had shimmered back into existence, the Warden explained that it would have been useful to know of this particular talent before now.

Morrigan's reply had been simply that she kept those kinds of things close to her when they first met, since shape shifting was not a branch of magic that was condoned by the Circle, and Solona had been a Circle mage, Alistair a Templar. Solona had been more than a little surprised that Morrigan had known that about the Circle, but accepted the reason in good faith – it was certainly as close to an apology as she would be getting for the deception.

They found the mountain by chance, Zevran's keen eyesight letting them know that this particular peak had something man-made on the summit, some structure. Solona quietly hoped they found a road soon because otherwise they would be hauling the cart and donkey over rocks. It would still be an entirely awful experience, climbing the mountain with the constant uphill climb in the heat, but a road would make things easier, for sure. The only thing they had to look forward to was the snow on top of the mount – it would likely give them at least a few cool breezes as they climbed.

When she and Morrigan reached camp, the witch went straight to Alistair, _voluntarily_ helping him to pack items into the cart. Solona just stood for a moment, watching, trying valiantly not to let her jaw drop. She failed.

"You should close your mouth before you catch flies." Solona's eyes snapped to Leliana, who stood by her with a smirk on her face. She narrowed her eyes at the bard for a moment, then grinned, scooping the woman up and kissing her deeply. Leliana let out a squawk of surprise before their lips connected, ensuring everyone noticed.

"What was that for," Leliana asked as Solona placed her back on her feet.

"What," Solona asked, putting on an air of innocence. "Do I need a reason to kiss you?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "Hmmmm. I have a feeling you were deflecting. But I suppose I can overlook it this time."

Solona smiled, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before going to help Alistair in loading their belongings into the cart, replacing Morrigan for the heavy lifting.

As they packed the cart, she bantered with Alistair. He had been… different, since his stay in Denerim. Of course, so had she, so she really wasn't sure who had changed, or if it was both of them. He wouldn't talk much about what had happened there, stating only the situation in the city: that they'd had to kill the fake Weylon, which Solona regretted but agreed was necessary once he'd attacked them; that he'd visited his sister; and that the Alienage had been shut down because of an uprising, which they both agreed was strange. Apparently the Arl and his son had been killed, and Loghain had allowed Arl Howe to step in for the time being. The man was also in control of Highever, after evidently stopping the Teyrn of Highever from conspiring with the Orlesians.

That last one had Solona puzzled. She admittedly didn't know much about current politics, but she was incredibly well read, had learned history from Wynne herself. The Couslands had always been the epitome of loyal Fereldens, choosing duty above all else – why would they conspire with Orlais? She had spoken with Wynne about it, and Alistair, and they just could not think of a logical reason. Given that Loghain was lying to the entire kingdom about the king's death, and the Grey Wardens' treachery, they decided that it wouldn't be unexpected for him and Howe to be lying about these things, as well.

And that was how Alistair generally sidetracked her when she would ask what else had occurred in Denerim. She had tried asking Zevran, but the man would just shrug and say, usually with a lecherous grin, that he would tell her when she told him what she and Leliana had done. That generally shut her up pretty quickly. It also made her even _more_ curious.

Once the cart was loaded up, they set off. The trip up the mountain didn't take as long as she feared. By mid morning, they were coming to the first signs of life. A penned-in area, obviously meant for some kind of livestock; then a single house; then, finally, they came upon a person: a heavily armored, bored-looking guard. He wasn't bored for long, however, straightening up and telling them to get out of town as soon as they'd traded at the shop.

As they headed away from the man, Alistair spoke up. "Did it just get colder here, or is it just me?"

"They are hiding something," Morrigan replied quietly, glancing at the guard and then Alistair. "'Tis obvious, is it not?"

"Agreed," Zevran chimed in, his ever-present grin on his face. "Quiet, insular communities always have something nasty going on behind closed doors."

Wynne rolled her eyes. "You _always_ think there's something nasty going on behind closed doors."

"That is because there often _is_, my dear Wynne." He winked at her. "I hope it involves chains… I hope they ask me to join in…"

Solona rolled her eyes and shook her head. _Leave it to Zevran_. "Come on, then. Let us see what we can find out in the short amount of time we are allowed here."

* * *

"What are you doing?! That's private!"

The shopkeeper had traded with them rather reluctantly, but while he, Solona, and Alistair did business, Max had gone wandering with his nose to the floor. He was now at a back room, and Leliana had taken the initiative to find out what had him literally pointing his entire body at the door. The shopkeeper had apparently noticed, however, and was now marching her way angrily, shouting loudly.

"Leliana, what's wrong?"

"Max seems to have found something," she replied to Solona, gesturing at the giant war dog. "I simply came over to check on him."

Solona narrowed her eyes from across the room. "What's behind the door, ser?"

"None of your business!"

"Look, ser. Mabari don't point for no reason. Either tell me what's behind the door, or I will find out for myself."

Instead of answering, he threw a wild punch, his fist colliding with the mage's jaw. Alistair and Leliana just stared in shock, Max the first one to take the initiative and knock the man down. Alistair drew his sword and held it to the man, warning him not to get up or try anything. But before he could finish, the man tried to sit up, skewering himself on Alistair's sword before the male Warden could move it.

Solona gawked down at his corpse. "I… what in all Thedas?"

"Maker," Leliana whispered. "Why would he _do_ such a thing?"

Solona stared for another moment before wrenching her eyes away and striding for the back door. "I think we should find out what he was willing to die to hide."

The sight – and smell – revealed made Leliana retch. She turned her body just in time to not splash her breakfast all over Alistair's boots, thankful for having put her hair up that morning. She felt a hand on her back as she heaved once more, a soft voice murmuring to her low: _Solona._

"I'm alright," she said as she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Solona produced a handkerchief, which the bard accepted gratefully, wiping her mouth and hands clean. She would have to find a water skin when they went outside once more so she could rinse out her mouth.

"It's one of Eamon's knights," Alistair announced as he walked up to them. "No need to inspect him closely – already took care of that, and there's no more information on him."

"Thanks," Solona murmured, eyebrows still knit in concern at Leliana.

"I am fine, Solona," she assured her lover, placing a hand on her cheek and smiling up at her. "That just… was not expected, to say the least."

Solona snorted, immediately adopting a guilty expression at having laughed after such a discovery, prompting Leliana to giggle and Alistair to laugh openly. After a moment of their absurd-feeling mirth, they went outside to check with the rest of their companions, Solona congratulating a very happy Max on his find as they went.

They found only more lies later on. Inside a seemingly-abandoned house that Max's nose once more led them to, they found an altar that had been literally bathed in blood.

"This is an unsuccessful attempt at blood magic," Wynne said, studying the altar.

"Most likely _several_ attempts," Morrigan clarified, standing next to the enchanter. She reached out a hand, chipped off some of the dried blood, and examined it closely. Leliana couldn't be sure, but she thought she even caught the mage sniff at it.

"So, this is from essentially blood sacrifices?" Leliana was unsure if she was disgusted or merely curious.

Morrigan's answer dripped sarcasm. "_Yes_, well _done_, putting the pieces together like that."

Leliana narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Solona got there first. "Stow it, Morrigan." Leliana saw the Warden looking at her, apology in her eyes. She merely gave her a lover a tiny shrug and an eye-roll, moving to the back of the room to check if there was more information hidden somewhere.

There was no more information to be found. When they exited the house, however, they were faced with a veritable horde of villagers, armed with everything from kitchen shears to actual weapons, and everything in between. Their leader was the guard from the entrance to the village.

"You killed the shopkeeper," he accused, pointing a finger at them with a scowl.

"He threw himself at me," Alistair replied. "He attacked my friend, and then threw himself on my sword while trying to attack me!"

"Enough of your _lies_!" And then they were being attacked. Leliana had no choice but to draw her most easily accessible weapons, the long daggers at her hips, and begin weaving her way through the villagers. It was much too easy. Only one or two of the villagers had any combat experience. Only one or two of them even had a true weapon. Leliana fought the bile rising in her throat as she battled, getting sick from the sensation of driving her blades into the flesh of innocents. But these innocents were throwing themselves at her, intent on harming her, harming her companions, and she had no choice but to defend herself. Two of her instincts – to protect herself and to protect innocents – were at odds, and her body was reacting violently to the duel.

She finally lost the battle at the end, dropping to her knees and losing what little was left in her stomach as Alistair ran his sword through the armored guard. There wasn't much, but her body just kept heaving each time she looked up and saw the massacre of the villagers. Closing her eyes, she was able to calm down enough, finally, to be able to get up and walk elsewhere.

She wandered without looking at the bloody corpses on the ground, ending up outside what was clearly an inn. She tentatively opened the door, finding the place empty. After a quick circuit to ensure her privacy, she rinsed her mouth out from her water skin and collapsed into a chair.

_Maker, forgive me. _How could they do something like that? And yet, what choice were they given? _You know very well that you could have chosen something else, Leliana_, she chastised herself. _You could have aimed to knock unconscious. You could have used that silver tongue of yours and tried to talk your way out of it_. Realistically she knew that talking would not have accomplished anything. Those villagers were bent on taking her life, on taking all of their lives. And if they were stupid enough to attack armed warriors with clubs and kitchen shears, then there was no saving them. But _why_ were they that stupid? Perhaps they sought to overwhelm? Or perhaps they were being coerced. They did have that feverish look in their eyes, of a person drugged, or filled with religious fervor…

Solona found her some time later, still sitting in a chair, lost in thought. She didn't notice the mage until she was crouched before her, eyebrows knit in concern.

"Solona," she said, starting out of her reverie.

"Are you alright, Leliana?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just… so much death." She searched Solona's eyes. "Does it not bother you, that we just slaughtered an entire village?"

Solona's eyes softened. "Yes, it does bother me. But we were given little choice. And there was clearly something wrong with them. Did you notice how not a one made even a single sound? There is something dreadful hiding in this village. We must find it."

"You are right, of course. I just… it literally made me sick, driving my blades…"

"Shhh, it's okay. Let's get you something to eat, replenish your strength, alright?"

Leliana nodded weakly, letting Solona pull her to her feet and lead her to the storeroom, where she found some bread to go with the porridge that the innkeeper had left over the hearth.

As she ate, she studied her lover. She had had enough attention to spare to note that Solona had not used a single spell while battling the villagers, using her staff only as a blunt weapon for bludgeoning. The mage had not dared channel her energy once since the incident with Zevran. She was afraid of the power – she had said so. It frightened her that she could lose her grip on reality to that degree, and when coupled with the intense _rage_ she felt whenever she faced Darkspawn, she found that control was a laughable concept. The power did not let her control – it controlled her. And she feared what might happen to her companions should a repeat occur. Leliana was silently relieved. Solona was frightening when she lost control like that. That someone so gentle with her could turn such an alien gaze upon her, so full of glee at the prospect of destruction, was terrifying.

"Why are you staring at me so?"

Leliana blinked, her train of thought dissipating. "Sorry. There is so much to think about. Couple that with the fact that I am always a little introspective around this time, and it is the perfect recipe for brooding."

Solona smiled. "And here I thought perhaps it was my hideous face."

Leliana giggled. "Hardly. You are beautiful, my Warden, in your own way."

Solona furrowed her brow in that adorable way of hers, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at Leliana, seated at a table. "Beautiful? Short hair, face tattoo, tall and muscled? How is any of that beautiful?"

Leliana stood, reaching out to untangle Solona's arms so she could hold the mage's hands. She looked up into Solona's face, studying her features, taking in the swirl of the tattoo, the curve of her jaw, the arch of her brow. The bard's hand strayed up, tracing each place delicately with the tips of her fingers. The woman was beautiful, if in a somewhat severe way. But she was not severe to Leliana – only safe, and warm, that smile brightening her day whenever it appeared.

_I am quickly falling in love with this woman. And I do not mind it at all…_

"You are _beautiful_, Solona. You simply _are_. Perhaps not in a traditional way, but I do not care. We both are marked permanently by our ordeals – I'd say we are perfect for each other."

Solona smiled, leaning down and capturing Leliana's lips in a delicate kiss. She groaned softly into the mage's mouth, delighting in the soft feel of those lips, the warm taste of honey and tea that was omnipresent, mixing wonderfully with that unidentifiable scent and flavor that _was_ the mage. She slinked an arm up and around the mage's neck, keeping her in place so as to prolong that kiss. She lost herself in sensation, letting all the other thoughts that were vying for her attention slip away until it was just her and her lover in that space.

* * *

They decided to leave the cart at the tavern, bedding down the donkey in the stables behind it. The village was eerily quiet, made even more sinister by the flawlessly beautiful day: the sun was out, perfectly fluffy white clouds floating by on a soft breeze, the coolness promised by the snow-capped peaks above them already kissing their skin. It appeared every single person who had lived in this village had been present for the attack upon them. Alistair, Sten, and Zevran had rallied together and built a simple funeral pyre very quickly, setting it alight as they continued up the mountain.

The village appeared to have been built on levels, with long sets of steps connecting each section of the village. Nothing new was found as they explored, until Zevran alerted them that he heard something strange on the breeze.

"What is it," Solona asked him, letting go of Leliana's hand and moving to stand beside him as he listened intently.

"I do not know," he said, his eyes closed, his body perfectly still. "It could be singing, or chanting. I will not be able to tell until we get closer."

"The breeze is coming from atop the mountain. It follows that the source of this sound is in the direction we are travelling," Sten remarked, striding forward purposefully.

"Sten, wait," Solona called as she hurried to his side, grabbing his arm and halting him. "We cannot simply go marching in, throwing caution to the wind!"

Sten peered down at her for a moment before answering. "You skulk about. An interesting strategy. Tell me, do you plan to keep moving north until it becomes south and attack the archdemon from the rear?"

What in the world could he mean?

Solona looked uncertainly up at him, clearly unsure where this was leading. "Well," she started, her eyes flicking over to Leliana, then Alistair and Zevran. "It would certainly never see it coming."

Leliana started to giggle despite herself, a small chuckle escaping Alistair. Wynne, Morrigan, and Zevran, however, were tense, eyes fixed in the Qunari. Max whined faintly, his gaze shifting from Leliana to Solona. Sten's response to the mage made Leliana's mirth die in her throat. "Truly. It would surprise _me_ if my enemy counter-attacked by running away and climbing a mountain."

Solona blinked a few times, her face a mask of uncertainty. Sten took a step forward, continuing. "The archdemon is our goal, and we are heading away from it to find the charred remnants of a dead woman. I will not simply follow in your shadow as you run from battle."

At his domineering stance, Max leapt forward, putting himself between Solona and Sten, growling deep in his throat. It was the first time he'd had to choose between his master and the giant who often took him out into the woods to hunt, and his choice relieved Leliana – she'd been quietly wondering who the dog would choose if it came down to it. That was when the fact that they were in a situation where the dog would have to choose really struck her, and her heart immediately began pounding.

Solona frowned up at the giant horned man, taking her own step forward and calling off the dog. "I am not _running_ from anything, Sten. If you'd like me to prove it to you, I happily will."

He looked down at her, expression as inscrutable as ever, for a long moment before grunting. "That is unnecessary. I think this quest is foolish, but I will go along with it. You are _baaselit-aan_, and I am bound to you. Your decisions are my decisions, as long as they do not go against the Qun."

Solona raised an eyebrow. "And this does not go against the Qun? The Sacred Urn of Andraste's Ashes?"

"Do you plan to preach and convert me to your false Maker?"

Leliana flinched at this, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to argue the existence of the Maker, of Andraste. She did not require others to share her beliefs, though hearing the Maker called "false" so openly was a little hard to swallow. Thinking of the scorn she'd received at the Chantry in Lothering for her belief that the Maker still worked through those in the earthly realm calmed her quickly, though, and she refocused on her lover.

"No, I do not. I do not care what you believe, Sten. As long as you do not compromise us, our mission."

He hummed low in his throat. "Very well. I will follow your lead." And he backed off, raising his eyes to the rest of the group. Leliana released a breath she had not been aware she'd been holding, moving to Solona's side. When she turned to look at the rest of them, she saw that every single person had a weapon drawn. Sten let out a sound that Leliana realized was supposed to be a laugh. "You have a faithful kith, Warden." He eyed her with a sidelong glance. "Perhaps you will yet give me reason to be a part of it aside from my bond."

Solona gripped Leliana's hand, pulling her attention away from the group, now muttering and stowing weapons, to the mage's face. She was shaky, visibly pale. "Dear, are you alright, Solona?"

The mage exhaled. "I was not expecting things to get that tense," she confessed. "I never thought I'd be in a battle of wills over dominance of a group with a Qunari kossith."

Leliana's lips quirked up at the corners. "Well, you performed marvelously, _mon petite chou-chou_. Now, let us move on before we are surprised by something even more exciting, yes?"

Solona nodded, pulling her staff from its place on her back and taking the lead of the group.

* * *

They came upon the village's Chantry on the highest level. The singing Zevran had heard had been audible to all of them for the last several minutes, starting up and stopping, repeating the same phrases, though no one knew what was being said. They decided to simply walk in, as the Chantry was open to all, even in the middle of a service.

They walked in during the middle of a sermon or prayer of some sort. The congregation was made up of what must be the rest of the village, but something was very wrong with this cleric.

"A man? The Chantry does not ordain men," Leliana murmured, her eyebrows knit in confusion. She hadn't been able to tell from his voice alone when she heard it outside.

"I know," whispered Solona, giving her hand a quick squeeze before moving forward.

The man giving the sermon didn't wear any Chantry robes that Leliana had ever seen, and he wore a staff upon his back. Staves were not necessarily the weapons of mages – she herself knew a dozen ways to kill or disable a man using a plain wooden staff – but his was carved ornately, adorned with baubles that clearly had some sort of arcane meaning. _A mage, and a man?_ This was not any Chantry she had ever heard of.

Solona strode forward through the semi-circle of people listening to the man. Her presence stilled the man's speech, and he opened his eyes. Even from across the room, Leliana could see that they were yellowed, like those of someone long with disease. His face was gaunt, his voice high and thin, almost reedy. His eyebrows knit in consternation at Solona, but he immediately fell into a passably cordial tone.

"Ah, welcome," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I trust you've enjoyed your time in Haven so far?"

He'd heard about them? How did he know? Had one of the villagers run ahead and warned him? If that was so, why was he so calm now?

Solona raised an eyebrow, mirroring his crossed arms and cocking a hip to the side. "Bloody altars, bloody knives, a dead knight of Redcliffe, and the warmest welcoming party I've ever experienced. Really, you make the Templars' capture of apostates look like a tea party. What's going on here?"

He addressed the people before him, his voice rising in volume and pitch, a feverish sweat breaking out on his brow as he yelled. "This, my brothers, is what happens when you let an outsider into the village. They have no respect for our privacy." He uncrossed his arms and reached for his staff, causing Leliana and the rest of her companions to immediately reach for their own weapons. But he did not seem to notice their weapons. "She will tell others of us if we let her. Word will spread, and then what?"

His eyes moved back to Solona, who had not moved except to have tensed in her spot. "You, stranger, do not understand our ways. You would bring war to Haven, in your ignorance."

Solona didn't move. "What have you done with Genetivi?"

"The brother was an outsider. We have learned not to trust outsiders. What trust can there be when you barge into our homes with no regard for those that live there? We don't owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty: failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven." He said the last with his eyes closed and his chin raised.

And then, they were being attacked. Leliana jumped to her left, rolling into the first person to lunge at her. She pulled a large dagger from her hip and plunged it into the groin of her attacker, the hot wash of blood over her hand and forearm letting her know that she'd found the major artery there.

She was on her feet before she could think about that feeling of blood, running for the three people trying to overpower Wynne and Morrigan. She hamstrung one before hopping upon the back of another, pulling her weapon across his throat as he stiffened from some spell, the blood flowing freely over her other hand this time. She found her feet as the man collapsed, and she turned to deal with their last opponent, only to have him fall at her feet, Zevran revealed behind him as he fell, holding a bloody dagger.

She ran to help Solona, who was squared off with the mage. They shouted words and hurtled energies at each other. As Leliana ran up, a teenager with a long knife ran up to Solona, making to slice his knife down her back. Without thinking, Leliana called the mage's name and threw a dagger, realizing what she had done just as the blade sunk in between the boy's shoulders.

"No!" She cried out as she reached him, catching him and cradling him in her arms, throwing his knife aside when he tried to bring it to bear against her. She barely noticed that Solona had vanquished the mage. It registered only dimly that the room had gone silent, her companions having incapacitated everyone else in the room. She could only see the boy's face as he died, her tears falling upon his cheeks, his expression one of confusion. His eyes searched hers, whispering something unintelligible as the light faded from them. As he went still, his expression resolved into one of peace.

"No," she whispered, dropping her forehead to the boy's chest, losing herself to the sobs that overtook her body. _Maker, forgive me…_

* * *

_A/N: So. I tried to incorporate Leliana's religiousness here a little. But the thing is, her piety was annoying to me in-game. How she would get down on her knees and rock back and forth at the slightest provocation. The Leliana I began to write was different from that, particularly when you take into account her past and how she was mocked for her unique brand of beliefs. If she believed so differently from everyone else, I don't picture her getting down on her knees like that at every opportunity. I wanted a quiet faith for her. Not that she doesn't know how the Chantry works. But someone so sullied, and still so good, I think would be quiet in her faith. She doesn't need to talk about it all the time._

_But having her talk about it during this chapter, during the coming quest, makes sense, since it's a religious one in nature. So yeah. Hopefully that makes sense._

_Also, absolute tip of the hat to Raven Sinead for the end there. I suspect the idea occurred to me because of her own story, as well as my own thinking of "Wait, you talk to a teen (I think they meant for him to be near manhood) at the beginning, and then you kill everyone. Obviously that means you kill the kids, too, right?" For what it's worth, aside from the boy dying, it's not going in the same direction at all._

_Lastly, let me know what you think about the bit of fluff at the beginning. I wanted to capture a moment with the two of them. And I'm always interested in the things people don't talk about in these fics - like, you know, the fact that these women are menstruating. Or that they have to take their dumps out in the woods. So I try to bring it up from time to time. Sorry if it's a bit too much for you._

_Okay, that's it. Lemme know how this all works for y'all._


	19. Chapter 18 - The Temple

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've been in vacation mode, which means my productivity included eating pizza and playing Halo. Diablo Kades has been crazy busy, and deserves a medal for doing all her shit IRL as well as beta-ing these chapters for me (and y'all - trust me, they're much better with her input)._

_This part sort of gave me fits. I had to re-write it, as I mentioned last time. But what I'm working on now - The Gauntlet - is **not** giving me any fits whatsoever. So. Hopefully the long delays will stop. Maybe. I did start a summer statistics class, and actually have to do work for it, so we'll see. I seem to not be able to accomplish anything but surfing reddit and playing video games when I'm at home..._

* * *

Chapter 18

**The Temple**

Alistair was breathing hard. He barely had time to realize what was happening until it was over – in order to save Solona, who was finishing off the mage, Leliana had killed a boy. She now kneeled over his corpse, her body wracked with silent sobs. Solona went to her first, but Leliana shook her away, refusing to leave the boy's side.

The mage stood up, hands on her hips as she stared down at the bard. Then she walked over to the mage's corpse. She searched it, pulling an odd-looking talisman from around his neck and tossing it to Alistair.

Alistair looked up from stowing it in his belt pouch. "What do we do now?"

Solona sighed. "I don't know, Alistair. This is all so… bloody _strange_."

He snorted despite the sorrow of the situation. "That's the _polite_ way of putting it."

Morrigan spoke up, an incredibly annoyed look on her face. "Might I interrupt what I'm _sure_ will be an incredibly intellectually _stimulating_ conversation and point out that they have done an incredibly poor job of hiding the doorway behind that bookcase?"

Solona moved to the bookcase after shooting another concerned look at Leliana, still kneeling over the boy with her head bowed. She summoned Alistair, and together they pushed the bookcase aside, revealing a doorway through which they found a dark, windowless room with a very gaunt man, who immediately yelled that the light from Solona's staff was too much for his eyes.

Once she'd extinguished it, he sat up a little, looking at Solona and Alistair with a quizzical expression. "Who are you? They've… they've sent you to finish it?"

Solona whispered to Alistair, "Go get Wynne." Then she knelt by the man. "Are you Genetivi? I'm Solona. I'm here to help you."

* * *

Alistair was concerned for Leliana. They'd had to drag her away struggling from the boy's side, and she had not yet gotten past his death, even though it had been a couple of hours. He didn't blame her for his death. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to, because he would have run the boy through if he'd been any closer. He didn't know what to say to her, though, so he had left her to Solona and Wynne, helping the other two men to gather the bodies outside of the chapel for another funeral pyre. The last one they'd built was still burning in the distance, and here they were building another. It was enough to make him sick.

After treating Genetivi, Wynne reported that he would be alright, though he was undernourished and limping now. A few good meals and he would have some strength. A month of hearty meals and he would be back to a healthy weight.

He said that the key to the temple was on the mage, who he named Father Eirich.

"But the Chantry doesn't ordain men," he'd said after producing the talisman Solona had tossed to him.

"From what I can gather, these people's settlement _pre-dates_ the Chantry as we know it," the Brother had explained. "When the Chantry was established, it was decided that only female priests would ever be ordained. But this place has been without contact with the outside world for so long, it would not surprise me if they aren't familiar with that at all."

That didn't do a lot to clear up his confusion. "Pre-date? But… how?"

Genetivi had smiled indulgently like the brothers at the Chantry always had, explaining for him further. "They call themselves the Disciples of Andraste. Some digging led me to believe that they are the descendants of the ones who brought Andraste's ashes to rest in the temple on the mountaintop. It was almost one hundred years before the Chantry as we know it was established – before that, it was just small, local Chantries with no overreaching organization like there is now in Orlais. These Disciples are very, very devoted, fanatically so, as you have seen."

Alistair had snorted then. The statement had been so absurdly accurate.

Genetivi smiled as well. "In any event, I can only imagine they stayed here to protect the Urn, and have perhaps gone mad over the centuries, burying themselves in their obscurity. They speak of Andraste as though she is… still alive. I do not believe it, of course. The entire village going mad in their remoteness is far more likely."

The conversation had continued for a few minutes, but now Alistair moved on to speak with Solona about Leliana, leaving Genetivi to pester Sten with questions about his people. "How is she," he asked as he came closer. She was keeping watch over the bard, who kneeled some distance away in front of a small statue in the likeness of Andraste, sitting stock-still as she prayed fervently under her breath.

The tall mage looked at him and shrugged. "She killed a child," she said, her voice low. "How would _you_ be?"

"You have a fair point," he admitted. "I would think I was a monster."

"Well, you've hit the nail on the head, my friend," the mage replied, glancing back at her lover with knit eyebrows. "_I_ don't think she is, of course, but that's not doing a lot to change her mind."

"What do you think of it all?"

Solona sighed. "It is unfortunate, but what was she supposed to do? The boy was almost a man, knew what he was doing. What concerns me more is the group's behavior. Are they indoctrinated in some way? Or were they under some sort of spell?" She shrugged. "It's too late to find out."

"Well, we probably killed all their neighbors, members of their families, so wanting to attack us probably was something they were _actually_ feeling," he replied. "Likely, he told them we slaughtered the village, and played that to his advantage, hoping their superior numbers would take us down before we took _him_ down."

"A desperate act by a desperate man." Zevran walked up to them, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Leliana in her prayers. "Children and peasants are i_ncredibly_ impressionable; they will believe almost anything you tell them, I find. If you've been raised to distrust strangers, and then they come into your village and kill your families and friends?"

"You have a point." Solona sighed. "So, coercion, then. That actually makes this a little more complicated. What if there are more of them in the temple?" She regarded Leliana a moment. Alistair and Zevran's gazes both followed hers. The bard was still kneeling, but had fallen quiet. Her eyes were open, her cheeks tear-stained. Abruptly she got up, walking up to them resolutely.

"Hey, Leliana, are you al-" Alistair didn't get to finish, as she held up her hand to stop him.

"Please. I would rather not discuss it." She turned to Solona. "Can we find some privacy?"

"Sure, Leli. I'll meet you outside." They all watched Leliana leave the room, looking back to each other when the door slipped shut. "I'm sure she'll be alright," Solona said. "She just needs to get over the shock and see that she took the only option presented to her at that moment."

"Right. Well, good luck," Alistair said, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah. Right. I'll come get you when we're ready to move on," Solona answered, moving to follow Leliana outside.

"I do not envy her," Zevran commented.

"Which one, Leliana, or Solona?"

"Both," Zevran answered, pushing himself off the wall where he had been leaning and moving to Wynne's side.

Alistair sighed. _I don't envy either of them either._

* * *

"You know, Morrigan, it would be incredibly useful if you could learn to turn into one of these." Alistair wiped off his blade before bending down to examine the drake they had all just helped to kill.

They had fixed Genetivi up, taking some time to give the boy a proper funeral, such as they could, and eat a meal. Now they were making their way through the temple Genetivi had mentioned, the one the medallion had opened up. So far they had found treasure and dragonkin. It was all so very _strange_.

"I cannot just _decide_ to take on a beast's form," the witch replied, with every bit as much bite as usual. "It is not like learning a normal spell."

"How is it different," Solona asked as she knelt down by the drake, examining its scales closely.

Morrigan pursed her lips and crossed her arms before answering. "It requires one to study an animal's very soul, to know it completely. That is difficult to do with a beast that attacks you on sight."

"But is there no incanting involved?" The mage Warden look up from her place on the ground, eyes open large in the dimness of the caves.

Morrigan knit her brows. "It is not as precise a form of magic as that. I utter a word that I have come to associate with the animal, but it is not a spell like other magics."

"As fascinating as this is," Zevran interrupted, "I suggest we move on. I can hear scales upon stone, and I would rather not face another of these things so soon."

"Just a minute more," Solona said, putting out her hand and murmuring to herself. Suddenly, all of the drake's scales fell off of it, making the clinking sounds of metal as they clattered to the stone floor of the cavern. She made a satisfied sound and began gathering them and stuffing them into her small backpack.

"And what do you intend to do with those," Wynne asked, peering over the bulk of the dead creature between them.

Solona shrugged. "If we can't find someone to make something out of them for us, then we can sell them. Given how difficult it was to pierce the creature's hide, imagine if armor was made from it, then enchanted? It would be light, flexible, _and_ strong and durable."

"That is a good plan," Sten rumbled, examining the beast's head. "Wearing such a thing would also show what a formidable warrior the wearer is."

Alistair did not miss how Solona looked to Leliana as she spoke, however. He imagined the mage wanted to deck the bard out in the safest thing she could find for her. He didn't blame her. He just hoped there was enough there to make some kind of lightweight, tough armor for Solona, as well. The number of wounds she had taken while fighting Darkspawn, and now dragonlings and drakes, was startling – she was just too big to be quite as light on her feet as Leliana and Zevran. She either needed heavier armor, or she needed to stop entering the fray. He would like them both to be safer.

He studied Leliana for a moment. The bard had remained quiet since the chapel, fighting with a cold efficiency that was unlike her. Not that she wasn't usually good, but she was the first into battle and the first ready to move on once their foes were felled. Even now, she stood by the entrance to the small cavern they occupied, eyes fixed outward, weapons still in her hands. She was an eerie sight.

"She is going to break, and it will not be pretty," Zevran murmured, having appeared next to him.

"But what can we possibly do to stop that from happening," he murmured back, glancing down at the elf.

Zevran shrugged. "I do not think there is anything that we can do. She will either come to accept what she has done, and continue on with the group, or she will not."

"Okay, let's go," Solona announced, interrupting any further discussion on the bard as she stood and secured her pack in place.

They continued on, getting deeper and deeper into the bowels of the temple, eventually leaving them altogether for a formation of caverns that had clearly been natural in formation, but smoothed over the years to ease human travel. More dragonlings were encountered, but they also found themselves facing groups like that in Haven, only these were well armed and armored, and had more skill, than the people down in the village.

They also ran into several more drakes, these ones guarding chambers full of _eggs_. The entire place was starting to stink of sulfur, and it was getting very hot the further and further up they got. It should be getting _colder_ this close to the snow on top of the mountain, not hotter. It didn't make sense.

Finally, they emerged into a giant cavern, the ceiling opening high above them, cracks in the stone showing bright sunlight outside. It felt like more time should have passed – the sun should not be so bright. But perhaps it was only because they'd been travelling for so many hours through the dark, with only the light from the three mage's staves to guide them.

The cavern was full of people, all armed to the teeth. A heavily armed man, flanked by two others, strode forward as they entered the cavern. "Stop," he growled, coming to a halt in front of Solona. "You will come no further!" His stance practically oozed hostility. Alistair noticed Leliana and Zevran melted out of sight, without seeming prompting or agreement. He knew well enough not to look around for them, however, turning his attention back to his fellow Warden, who stood just in front of him.

Solona crossed her arms over her chest, a stance they all knew well. It was her most indifferent posture, and it tended to have the effect of driving those she was arguing with mad. "Oh? Is that so? And who are you?"

"I am Father Kolgrim, leader of the Disciples of Andraste. _You_ have defiled our temple! You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young! No more!" He walked forward until he was a mere foot from Solona's face. She did not budge. "You will tell me, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?!"

"I have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she answered simply.

"You did this all for an ancient relic? Know this, stranger: the prophet Andraste has _overcome_ death itself. She has returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!" Alistair barely processed that. Andraste back from the dead? Another form? _What could he possibly mean?_ "Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now. What hope do _you_ have?"

Solona shifted from one foot to the other. "And the Ashes?"

"They are still in this temple. But why do we need Ashes when we have the Risen Andraste in _all_ her glory? But if you are after them, then perhaps we can strike a deal, and you can atone for your desecration of our home and temple."

Alistair listened to his proposal, convinced by the end that the man was mad. He wanted them to take a vial of the Risen Andraste's blood and defile the Ashes with them. This would allow their Risen prophet to truly realize her divine power, according to Kolgrim. It was lunacy.

Yet Solona listened, head cocked in consideration. _Leliana must be fuming_, he thought to himself, resisting the urge to look around and find her. He _did_ let his eyes slide to Wynne, who was right next to him. Her expression confirmed his own beliefs about Kolgrim – she looked upon him much as she had Uldred. She was thinking as he did: if the Ashes did truly exist, as the false Father claimed, then they had to find them, keep them from this monster who would defile something so sacred for something of the flesh. To even _consider_ such an act was beyond mere sin.

Solona suddenly straightened in front of him. "The Ashes are real, and you would see us desecrate them? I would see you dead first."

She had her daggers out before he could pull his own sword. His shield still strapped to his arm, he did the only thing he could think to: take a running start and crash into Kolgrim, knocking him senseless before he could even get his helmet on. He pulled his sword from his hip and ran the man through, saving them all the trouble of dealing with him and his wicked-looking two-handed axe. It also had the bonus of getting rid of these cultists' leader, which would either demoralize them, or enrage them into making mistakes, either of which could only work in their favor.

He turned to face another opponent, bringing his sword up to parry a blow meant for the weak spot in his armpit. He brought his sword in quickly once knocking aside the blade, taking the woman attacking him in the side between plates of armor. As she winced from her wound, he pulled back and took her in the throat with the sharp top of his shield, completely decapitating her. He avoided looking at the carnage he had wrought as he moved on to his next opponent.

He lost track of time, raising his shield or sword when required, weaving in and out, shouting challenges to keep the majority of those they were fighting away from Morrigan, Wynne, Leliana, and Zevran. At some point, it registered that Solona had ended her self-imposed ban on her arcane powers. The battle ended quickly after that, Solona's wild, glowing eyes in a murderous scowl as she sent electricity dancing down her sword and along the body of the man who was poised to strike against him.

Panting, he turned to see how the rest of his companions fared, only to find that he could no longer move.

"Warrior! Face me!"

In the distance, coming down a flight of stairs from some kind of dais, was a figure in full, shining gold armor. The voice was male, the figure a commanding presence as it strode purposefully down the steps. Solona's figure sprinted into view, and he realized he would be forced to watch this battle without being able to do anything to sway it at all.

* * *

Solona pelted for the figure at the far end of the room. Without knowing how she knew, she was aware that he was controlling her allies, keeping them still, keeping them from attacking. Her narrowed vision allowed a hyper-focus, and she could see every movement the form made, every detail of its armor, weapons, even the etching on the tops of its boots.

The battle was joined a moment later, her sword catching his before her head was separated from her shoulders and shoving him away from her. She let out a cry, directing electrical energy to travel through her sword once more, but it was caught by her opponent's sword, sparking along the weapon without hurting the armored figure.

Her body screamed in pain when the energy was directed back at her. Her muscles seized even as her mind fought it, reaching out and containing the energy, directing it away from her body. The burns were already healing when she launched herself at her opponent once more.

She hefted the dagger she held, tossing it under-handed at the figure. It burst into flame as it flew, but the man just raised a hand, an arcane shield of shimmering energies rising in front of him, halting the blade in mid-air. It fell to the stone floor harmlessly, the flames winking out of existence as she turned her focus back to this man in front of her.

This man was a mage. He was an arcane warrior, like her. She was evenly matched.

_Balls_.

Pulling another blade from her hip, she lunged, knocking his sword aside with her own as a narrow beam of white light burst from its tip, charring part of a boulder nearby instead of her flesh. She thrust with her dagger, picturing electricity once more. This time it did something, as the blade connected with flesh, piercing through a weak point in the man's armor. He cried out, taking the altogether plain tactic of shoving her off of him with both hands.

She made the mistake of treating him like any other opponent at that point. The second or two that she used to push herself to her feet and collect her weapons was all her needed to start healing his body. The paltry stab wound was hardly enough to slow him down, even with the wound damaged by electricity as it was.

Her vision reeled when he slammed a fist into her face. She let the momentum carry her, which probably saved her life, as that wicked sword came slicing where her throat had been a moment before. She stopped herself and crouched low to the ground, going on the defensive for the first time ever while channeling her arcane energy.

Taking that moment near the ground gave her an advantage, and it was with a grin on her face that she was up and moving. She had to wound him mortally, and keep up the pressure until whatever lethal wound she gave him bled him faster than he could heal. She couldn't wear him down, nor could she get an advantage in strength – he was far larger than her, large muscles bunching under thick plate armor. No, the only advantage she had was speed.

She leapt forward, somersaulting under his outstretched blade, not quite able to avoid a blast of flame before ramming into his shins. It hurt, his metal greaves biting into the flesh of her shoulders that had just been crisped, but it stumbled him long enough for her to again find a weak spot for her dagger. She thrust up, shoving her dagger so far into his leg that she felt the tip graze his bone. She didn't hesitate for a second, yanking it so that there was no option but for her to have hit the artery hidden deep in the groin, and was rewarded with a splash of crimson over her wrist. Leaving her knife there, she channeled energy through her hand, through the blade, sending electricity, heat, and flame directly into him, frying him in place as she felt him sending a spell her way.

She did not avoid his spell. Even as he died, cooking in his boots, she was thrust into a waking nightmare.

Leliana was dead. Irving was dead. Wynne, Alistair, and Morrigan were all dead, lying at her feet, the blades that had killed them hanging limply from Solona's fingers. She had killed them, lost control and directed a blast of energy toward them so strong that it had torn them all into pieces. She tossed her head back, wailed her fury, her sorrow, into the sky, a scream of pure agony torn from her throat.


	20. Chapter 19 - The Mountaintop

_A/N: Alright. I have this ready to go and am getting impatient to see what y'all think. So I'm posting early. But this also means it might be a bit of a break until the next chapter. Sorry!_

_But! This story has officially stopped giving me fits. Further notes at the end, for after you read._

* * *

Chapter 19

**The Mountaintop**

Solona's scream echoed around the chamber. But as abruptly as the nightmare started, it vanished. Instead of little Robert dead in her arms, she held a dagger buried in the thigh of the warrior she'd been fighting. She let go of the smoking metal, immediately crying out in pain.

The skin on her hand had been fused with the metal blade, and came off as she let go. As she was no longer channeling her arcane energy, it was not healing, and _all_ of the skin had come off, leaving a bloody mess. Staring at her hand, she was simultaneously horrified and fascinated.

Her fascination was broken by a groan in the distance. _The others_. She had no time to risk channeling that energy once more, could risk losing herself to it. The others could be hurt. Cradling her hand to protect it, she got to her feet, leaving the warrior's corpse for later. She would need to find other clothes. The shirt she was wearing, and the armor over it, were somewhat tattered thanks to the last blast of flame that had crisped the skin of her shoulders and back.

Coming upon Alistair first, she got him to his feet with her good hand.

Shaking his head to clear it, he asked, "What happened?" His voice was garbled, and he winced in pain, his hand going gingerly to his jaw.

"You're unconscious and I'm not, for once," she replied, trying to get a good look at his face. Something wet dripped down her wrist, and she looked down to find that her hand _really_ needed tending to. Just as she noted so in her head, Alistair noticed.

"Maker's blood!" Before she could protest, he was pressing bandages to her hand, soaking up the blood before reaching into his belt pouch for one of the healing potions she and Morrigan made most evenings. Pulling the stopper with his teeth, he removed the linen bandages and poured the potion over her hand. It stung, but stopped the bleeding. She watched, just as fascinated as before, as the skin grew back before her eyes. It was red and angry, still very sore, but serviceable. She could have Wynne heal it better later. She was not averse to scars, but the entirety of her right palm would not do – she needed to be able to grip things. If only normal healing magic worked on oneself.

"Thank you," she muttered, flexing her hand a few times before looking about the cavern. Everyone else was waking up. "Let's get everyone on their feet, see if anyone needs help, shall we?"

He agreed, and they set about assessing their companions, seeing if everyone was okay. Everyone, as it turned out, was not okay. Wynne was severely drained of energy, as was Morrigan. Solona was unsteady on her feet, swaying as she moved from person to person. Zevran was injured, though not life-threateningly for once, his shoulder a bloody mess. Alistair sported a broken jaw from a well-placed gauntleted fist. Sten limped as he stoically moved about the cavern. Even Max sported several superficial wounds.

The only person not injured was Leliana, but she was still quiet, doing everything she was asked, but not speaking, going through the motions almost mechanically. Solona was worried. She couldn't go on like that forever. But for now, she would leave her alone. They needed to rest, eat something, replenish their strength. They had no idea what might be waiting for them when they left the cavern.

* * *

"Wait. How did you break his hold?"

"I don't think I did."

Solona sat in the middle of her companions. She, Wynne, and Morrigan had healed what they could, but no one had emerged from their battle with Kolgrim's cultists unharmed, and the three mages were _tired_. But this was a conversation that needed to happen _now_.

Wynne looked at her critically. "What exactly happened?"

She shared the battle play-by-play, ending with her waking from the very powerful nightmare that was cast into her mind. "Honestly, I think the only reason it broke was because he died," she finished. "It was _that_ powerful."

Alistair placed a hand on the mage's forearm. "Wait – this man was another arcane warrior? Like you?" He could talk normally now, his jaw having just been healed by Solona herself.

Solona nodded. "Yes. I don't understand it, but he was. But he… wasn't as powerful, or wasn't used to channeling the energy, or something. I'm not sure – I didn't exactly get a chance to ask him."

Alistair worked his jaw for a moment and then asked, "Have you checked his body yet?"

She shook her head. "No. I've been far too busy making sure everyone is okay."

He pushed himself to his feet. "Well," he said, dusting off his trousers and holding a hand out for Solona. "I say we check him out and see what we can learn."

Wynne took his extended hand next. "I agree. If there was another like you, Solona, then we need to learn what we can."

"Yes, you're right, of course. I was just worried about you all. And for good reason – that was the bloodiest battle we've experienced so far. We did well, but we would be nowhere without magical healing. Morrigan and I need to learn more if we're to keep up with this group."

Leliana got to her feet, as well, taking the mage's hand and giving it a squeeze. She was still very quiet, the blood splattered on her armor incredibly unlike her. Usually, she was the only one who made it out of battle with very little cleaning to do. Solona knew it was her guilt, being furious with herself, that sent her into battle at such close quarters. She wasn't sure, as the bard wasn't talking about it, but she would wager that the bard had lost some of her guilt fighting these armed warriors. She didn't blame her for the boy's death – he had been about to skewer the mage – but she understood the bard's guilt. It worried her, though, because it was one of the few things the bard could feel that the mage could do nothing to alleviate. She almost wished Leliana could be angry with _her_, as she could do something about _that_.

They didn't find much. The body itself was unremarkable, simply a pale-skinned man with dark hair and a beard, skewered and bled dry from the wound to his groin. There was no mysterious explanation for his presence here, no manual or text upon the nondescript dais from whence he had appeared. He was as dead as any other dead man.

They did find a sword on him, though; a decent length, thinner than what any of them used and yet long and elegantly curved, exquisitely balanced. It practically sang itself to life when Solona lifted it from the ground. It felt warm to the touch, but not like hot metal – more like warm, inviting _skin_. Energies sparked along the blade, a faint humming sound filling the air. Solona felt the power within her respond, and without thinking much of it, she allowed the power to rush through her. The blade danced with flames, switching swiftly to radiating frosty air, before lightning flickered along the blade, all at the whim of her mind. Her hand also immediately healed itself completely.

"It is made for a being like me," Solona's multi-toned voice declared. She heard the voice for the first time, cutting off that power in her shock at what she heard from herself. Looking up, she realized that she could decide to tunnel her vision into its hyper-focused state or not. She also had retained her mind while channeling the energy.

Shaking her head, she continued, a little bewildered, promising to herself to discuss it with either Wynne or Alistair later on. "It channels the energy as well as my very body." Her voice was low and soft, her eyes wide in awe, staring at the blade.

"What do you mean," Alistair asked.

"I can't describe it," she answered, still staring at the blade. "It's almost as if it just… _knows_ what I want of it. It almost feels as though it siphons off the extra energy that my body cannot hold. It relieves a pressure, almost. It hums to the tune of my body; its song is the most… _right_ thing I have ever heard."

"Perhaps," Leliana said, gripping Solona's sword-arm lightly and pulling the sword down, catching the mage's eyes with her own. "Perhaps we should take it with us. But don't _use_ it yet, Solona. We know nothing about it. Other than that it is obviously a powerfully enchanted weapon."

Solona blinked and nodded. It was the most words Leliana had said since their private moment outside the Chantry, which had really just been Solona holding a desperately sobbing redhead. "You're right, of course. Let me just take the sheath for it, and I'll keep it with me, and we can see if we can find more information." She paused, looking around the cavern. "Another just like me," she murmured to herself, shaking her head before moving away, sheathing the sword in the scabbard taken from the dead mage.

* * *

It took them a while to regroup. They found a whole host of supplies in a small cave in the back of the massive cavern, full of bedrolls, food supplies, and even firewood. They built a fire, setting up the bedrolls so everyone could get some rest. Sten claimed to not need any, volunteering to take watch so everyone else could rest.

Solona set up hers and Leliana's bedrolls somewhat away from the others, in the room where they found the supplies. She was worried about the bard, and wanted to speak with her. Even just some time alone, to not have to worry about how the others saw her, might do her some good. She also didn't think anyone would appreciate being able to hear them kissing, or murmuring to each other, even if it wasn't sexual.

She now sat waiting for the bard to return from relieving herself. She knew Leliana was going through her courses, and that might also be affecting her. Certainly, the vomiting from earlier could be explained best by that – they'd come across nasty smells and sights before, but nothing had ever made the bard lose the contents of her stomach like that. And twice, no less! It probably also was putting her in a sullen mood, having to fight with linen bandages calling her womanhood their home. All in all, Solona was rather glad she didn't need to worry about such things, though a solid answer about whether hers stopping was due to the Taint in her blood or not would be nice.

A very deliberate scuffing of a boot against the stone floor interrupted her contemplation of womanhood and linen bandages. Her head snapped up to find Leliana watching her from the cave's entrance. The bard's lips were pouted in a frown, her brows knit and her eyes narrowed. Solona contemplated getting to her feet, but decided to just hold out her hand. Leliana's frown abated for a moment, a slight smile gracing her lips as she walked forward and took the mage's hand, allowing herself to be pulled onto her knees next to the mage.

"Are you having any pains," Solona asked, trying to get Leliana's attention from where it appeared to be fixed on the floor. "I have the ingredients to make you something for it, if you like."

"That… would be nice, actually," Leliana replied, her voice soft, barely voiced.

Solona got to work, taking the leaves of various herbs and grinding them down into a fine powder. She began to hum to herself quietly as she worked, losing herself a little, getting a supreme amount of satisfaction from the simple work. Potion making had always been a pleasure for her. Her mind remembered ingredients and what they could be used for well. The infusion of magic into the potions was also well suited to her normal incanting – one did not need to make potions quickly, in life-or-death situations, so her need to take time with spell casting was always well suited to this task.

She put a stopper on a flask and shook, recalling the words she needed. Reciting them under her breath, she focused the power into its contents, holding it out to Leliana immediately after she was through. "It won't taste nice, but it should work pretty quickly. It's a mixture one of my teachers came up with to specifically target a woman's pains without leaving you loopy."

Leliana took it, expressing her gratitude before downing the entire thing. "You're right," she said once she'd swallowed, looking back up to her with a sour look on her face. "It does not taste good."

Solona snorted. "Give it a few minutes. I've made it countless times for my own pains. It works wonders."

Leliana nodded, handing the flask back before drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She still wore her armor, but her weapons had been set aside, leaving her looking smaller and meeker than normal. Or perhaps that was her uncertain posture, with her chin on her knees?

"Leliana?"

"Hmm?"

"Leliana, look at me?"

Shining blue eyes met hers. Solona could see the sadness in them, barely held in check, ready to burst forth.

"Leli, please talk to me?"

The bard sighed, unfolding her body and taking one of Solona's hands. "I do not think talking will fix it, Solona."

"I don't think so, either. But I do think it is important to talk, nonetheless. At least to me."

"What do you want me to say? I killed that boy." Her voice got very quiet, her gaze slipping away from Solona's. "Without even thinking. I am a monster."

"Hey," Solona snapped, hoping to shock Leliana into looking at her. It worked, the bard's eyes snapping back to her, a flash of anger flaring up in them before the guilt replaced it once more. "You're _not_ a monster, Leliana. You are a good woman."

The anger flared back up. "How can you say that?" She pulled her hand away, sitting up taller and glaring at the Warden. "How can you sit here and tell me that I am good after I did such a thing? I_ killed_ that boy, watched his life fade away in my arms!"

Solona sat up just as straight, fighting to keep a smile from her lips as she responded. This was working better than she had hoped. "He was trying to kill me! Are you saying you should have let him?"

"What?! No! Of course not! But I didn't have to kill him!"

"Are you saying that there was some way you could have incapacitated him without a blade?"

"It was the only thing available that quickly!"

"Are you saying you could have stopped him? Stopped the manipulation of the man I was fighting?"

"No! I could not!" The bard was on her feet now, pacing. "I had no other choice! It was the only way to stop him from hurting you! We cannot afford to lose you, cannot afford only one Warden!" Solona found her feet just in time to have Leliana whirl around, pinning her with those now-fiery blue eyes, shining in their defiance. "I cannot lose you! He even continued trying to kill me after his life was fading from his eyes! How could they do such a thing to children?!"

Solona's voice was quiet. "I do not know, Leliana. But by stopping that boy, you allowed me to stop the one who did it to them. You're not the monster here, Leli. _He_ was. The _parents_ were. You just got the fallout from _them_."

"That's just an excuse." The bard's voice was hard, full of so many emotions and yet devoid of them all. "There had to be another way."

Solona took a risk, walked very close to her bard, getting within touching distance, but not actually touching her. "There may have been, but you did what you had to, to save everyone else. How many children will the archdemon kill? The man I was fighting clearly cared nothing for the people of that village, sending them against armed warriors in order to save this false prophet, armed with nothing but clubs and knives from their kitchens! You should be _angry_, Leliana."

"I **am** angry!" The bard's voice echoed off the walls. Solona was sure everyone heard that, but didn't really care. She had to act quickly, or Leliana would fade back into her guilt. She needed her angry. She was on _fire_ when she was angry.

She was also _sexy_ when she was angry. She couldn't help it; she had Leliana in her arms in a heartbeat, the bard's lips crashing into hers as she climbed up the taller woman, wrapping all of her limbs around Solona.

Their clothes were off quickly, their lips and teeth finding the other's skin with barely any restraint. "Make me feel good," the bard pleaded, purred, growled.

They would be a mess when they were done, but once again, Solona did not care. All that mattered was sustaining this intensity, allowing her bard to feel something other than guilt.

So she did as Leliana asked: she made her feel good.

* * *

They emerged some time later on the top of the mountain. In the several hours it had taken them to regroup the sun had set. The stinking sulfur smell was a hundred times worse out here, obviously coming from the steaming yellow pools of liquid spread about.

It was very hot nearby the pools, with the snow having melted within ten yards around each one, the snowmelt probably providing the fresh water that was steaming in the pools.

"The sulfur gas must come up from deep within the mountain. The heat is perfect for incubating those eggs we found," commented Wynne as they all took in what they could. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it was a full moon, meaning there was very little they couldn't see, especially after so long spent in caverns, out of view of most natural light.

"We should have destroyed them all," Sten grunted, brows low over his eyes in a glower.

"I didn't want to condemn them to extinction just because the grown ones were dangerous," Solona replied, careful to keep any emotion from her voice.

"The young ones were dangerous, as well."

She stopped, looking over to him. "Do you punish a bear for its very nature just because it _could_ harm you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No," he grunted after a moment. "You disable the threat, but its nature cannot be helped." He looked away again. "Your argument has merit."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Thank you oh so much for your approval," she muttered, stepping out in front of the group to begin the descent toward the rest of the temple on the far side of the plateau.

"Are you alright with him," Leliana whispered. She'd appeared silently, as was her way. She was still quiet and contemplative, but their lovemaking earlier, along with subsequent sleep, seemed to have helped to restore the bard to be more like her usual self, if still a bit subdued. It made Solona's heart soar to see.

"Yes, it's fine," she replied, internally rolling her eyes. How was she supposed to lead a giant horned warrior who was questioning her at every turn, and who apparently respected her less because she was a woman, and a mage to boot? Apparently his vow of service did not include the stipulation that he not mouth off. She was starting to wish she'd had the foresight to think of it when Leliana had freed him from his prison.

"Why do you think he is challenging you like this," the bard asked her.

Solona barely kept from snorting derisively. "One thing I'll give him – he does not keep his reasons for his actions to himself. He stated quite clearly why he was acting the way he was this morning."

"Perhaps," Leliana said, clearly thinking. After a moment, she continued. "But he still has not told us why he killed those farmers. He keeps being evasive about that."

Solona frowned. "You have a point. Perhaps I should ask him again when we're off this damned mount-"

She never got to finish what she was saying. Instead, she was struck momentarily dumb by the beat of very large, very powerful _wings_.

A dragon.

A _high_ dragon.

"Maker," Alistair breathed behind her. It was enough to jar her from her own shock.

"Scatter!" And she was off, pulling her staff and taking three running steps away from the group. _That was far too close_, she thought to herself, turning to see a fireball explode in the spot the group had occupied. She was pleased to note that not a single person was anywhere close enough to that spot anymore to be damaged by the flame, but only had time for that one thought before she had to turn and run again; the dragon sent another ball of flame toward her, not letting up, following _her_ movements specifically with its large head.

She turned and sent a blast of cold its way, figuring that a creature of fire could not stand the bitter cold. It did not even reach the target, however – she was too far away for any form of magic to have enough effect. She put on a burst of speed, willing the well of power to come to her, finding it immediately in her very center and opening herself, letting it pour through her, using her body as a conduit. Her vision narrowed, time seemed to slow, and a grin spread over her lips.

This. _This _was a challenge. One worthy of her power.

She pulled the blade that sang to her as she dropped her staff, abruptly changing direction and heading _toward_ the beast.

In a single moment she glimpsed the entire battlefield. Alistair and Leliana stood well away, peppering the dragon with arrows. Most bounced harmlessly off scales, but enough found tender flesh – around the eyes, inside its gaping maw, in between its toes – to irritate it, necessitating their relocation every few shots. With the flick of her wrist, she caused the tips of the arrows to freeze, willing them to freeze the flesh of their target when they hit home.

Wynne was also far away from the beast, casting her healing spells upon those of their party best suited to short-range melee combat as well as sending her own punishment toward the beast. Sten was taking the brunt of the punishment from large, sharp talons, darting out of the way just in time with each swipe of the claws and bringing his sword down to try to find the same tender flesh the arrows were finding. Max rushed toward the back feet of the dragon, growling fiercely and biting at the creature's heels, causing it further irritation. Zevran, mad as he was, appeared to be attempting to sever the creature's tendons in its legs, but the scales were proving too thick for his weapons.

It gave her an idea, though.

"So _this_ is the Risen Andraste," Morrigan's voice half-shouted, half-panted. Solona's narrowed vision had kept her from seeing that the witch had joined her in her mad dash for the dragon, her heightened senses not warning her because the woman was not a threat. Now she miraculously kept pace with the Warden, sprinting alongside Solona with staff in-hand.

There was no time to answer her, not that she was probably looking for an answer. The moment of surveying the battlefield had passed, her idea was taking form, and she could easily outrun anything the dragon was sending her way. Just a few moments later, she had reached the beast. She leapt for it, willing herself higher than any natural leap would ever take her. She landed where its tail met its body – precisely where she needed to be.

Heedless of the razor-sharp spikes adorning the creature's spine, she raised the enchanted sword, aimed, and plunged it between two scales. Pumping ice and fire in equal measures, she drove the tip deep, wrenching it from side to side, attempting to sever its spine between its hindquarters. The beast screamed, belching out flame and acidic saliva. Then it shuddered for a moment before its hindquarters collapsed, effectively immobilizing it.

She shouted in triumph, pulling her sword and laughing, her head thrown back to the heavens. Her celebration was short-lived, however. Just as she sensed something was wrong, moving to avoid danger, the shadow of the dragon's head descended upon her. Before she could get away, she was encased in those jaws, dozens of razor-sharp teeth pressing in on her, treating her to the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life.

She screamed, the power surging forth to save her, a mental blast of force whipping the dragon's head to the side, forcing it to release its prey. She hit the ground with bone-breaking force, but was healing so quickly that she could push herself to her feet with little difficulty almost instantly. She took a single moment to collect herself, to finish healing her body, noting with a detached astonishment that the blade was still in her hand. Then she was running for the beast once more.

But she was too late. In panic, Alistair must have drawn his sword and shield and run forward to free his fellow Warden. Instead, she had freed herself, opening him up to the beast, which seemed to have taken Solona's damage to it personally. Before the mage could reach the creature, it had Alistair in its jaws, clamping down on his metal armor with bone-crushing force.

Time stopped for a moment. She was distantly aware of several screams in the air, though she couldn't tell from whom. She heard the teeth scraping Alistair's metal armor, the sound of the teeth puncturing the metal before sinking into his flesh. Her feet would not cooperate, would not get her there _now_, which was what she needed, and she watched helplessly as Alistair was thrashed, painfully slowly with her heightened senses, from side to side, each pass pressing those teeth down a little further.

Suddenly Morrigan was in the air, Sten's sword, which she had retrieved from where it had fallen moments earlier, in her hands. The witch found a perch out of sheer stubborn will, it seemed, driving the weapon into the dragon's eye. It let go of Alistair, letting out a stream of fire and shaking the mage free, the sword staying in its eye. It pawed at its faced a few times, unable to dislodge the weapon. She watched it slowly begin to sway, its injuries apparently too much for it.

Finally, _finally_, she was close enough to do something. Torn armor and clothing hanging from her, she leapt once more, driving her sword, which looked too small to accomplish anything against such a beast, between its eyes with a guttural howl of rage. The sword found a weak spot between two scales, and her magic and rage-fueled strength drove it in to the hilt.

She was thrown from it in its death throes, her blade somehow coming with her. She felt her power coursing through her, demanding she act, but for the first time she was able to tame it, purposely narrowing her access to that well of power in her very core. It waned slowly, not suddenly, leaving her able to remain conscious as her body adjusted to the loss of power. Or, at least, she would have remained conscious had she not then slammed into the side of the mountain.

* * *

She regained consciousness after an indeterminate amount of time. Her vision clarified slowly, blurry white lines resolving themselves into the stars in the night sky. She tried to turn her head, but immediately regretted it, crying out as a sharp pain shot down the back of her neck.

Thinking hard for a moment, she found her center, calling the power forth once more. It began to heal her wounds immediately, and within a few moments she could feel her hand, which she hadn't even been aware she couldn't feel. She clenched it around the hilt of her sword, amazed once more that she had held onto it while being thrown from a _dragon's head_. She moved her head to study the weapon while the power coursed through her, and was astonished at what she saw.

The sword was _glowing_. Much how she was told her eyes glowed. She heard its song, _felt_ it hum through her, singing in counterpoint to the power that she allowed free reign. And as it sang, her body sang back, the power spilling over into the weapon. She probed it, reaching her senses out through her physical connection with the weapon, seeing again that it was actually _storing_ the power, her connection with the weapon allowing it to act as a conduit much as her body did.

Perhaps the weapon tempered the power somehow?

She was pulled abruptly from her probing of the weapon by her own memories. An image of Alistair being pulverized by dragon's teeth flashed before her eyes, and she sat up, allowing the power to cease, not even realizing that she could do so with little difficulty now.

Her first impression upon standing and beginning to walk was that she had been thrown _far_. She sheathed her sword and broke into a jog, feeling almost like normal, with just some residual soreness in her neck and right arm – the side that had hit the rock. In the distance, she could see her companions finding their feet, examining the hulking mountain of dead dragon, and Morrigan and Wynne crouched over something – presumably Alistair.

_Maker, I hope he's okay_. He couldn't leave her alone. They were a pair. They were the only two Wardens left in Ferelden, linked by a special bond, a singular understanding of their tainted blood. But more than that, they were now the most unlikely of friends, apostate mage and Templar recruit, one raised in the Circle, the other by the Chantry. If he died, Solona wasn't sure what she'd do with herself.

_Of course you know. You will continue. Your duty does not die until __**you**__ die_.

The words echoed in Duncan's voice, in Irving's voice, in Wynne's. Even her Aunt Leandra was in there, reminding her of her purpose, her duty. And then Leliana's voice joined it, just as the real Leliana noticed her coming their way, looking up from what looked to be a frantic search for something. _For me_, she realized, and put on a burst of speed, nearly crashing into the woman as she took the redhead into her arms, lifting her bodily off her feet.

"I'm so glad you are alright," Leliana exclaimed, her voice muffled some by Solona's shirt.

"Me, too," Solona said with a slight smirk, setting the bard upon her feet once more. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Leliana still looked sad, her eyes shadowed by grief and guilt, but she was still far more herself than she had been before.

"We'll have to replace your armor," she said instead, fingering the tattered leather that was the result of the arcane warrior and the dragon both. The wounds underneath had healed, but her torn clothing, including the hanging strips of leather armor, were stained with her blood.

"It's fine. It can wait," Solona responded, removing Leliana's hands and interlacing their fingers. "I need to check on everyone."

They found Wynne pouring healing energies into Alistair's body. He lay broken and bleeding upon the stone near the dragon's head, but still alive, his chest rising and falling noticeably with his breathing. Somebody had removed his armor chest piece, and he lay unconscious. Morrigan kneeled next to the senior enchanter, one hand upon the mage's shoulder, appearing in a trance. Solona knew at once that she was concentrating on transferring her magical power to Wynne for her use, and immediately kneeled next to her fellows.

Summoning her energies, she laid both hands upon Wynn's back and willed her power into Wynne's body, to be used as the mage saw fit.

* * *

_A/N: ~Ducks head~ Please don't hurt me for that cliffhanger..._

_Some thoughts to share. First off, as Diablo Kades likes to point out to me, I for once didn't gravely injure Zevran! Instead it's Alistair. It was actually indirectly her idea, though. It seems like most people who involve Alistair and Morrigan (if you didn't that's where I was headed, now you know - I don't think it's a big surprise) have Alistair save her in some way. Well, bitches, I'm having Morrigan save **him**, because I can! She is badass, and I loved the image of her crying out and jumping into the air with a sword that's the size of her, not even bothering with magic. So there._

_Second, I really want to see what y'all think about Leliana and Solona's scene. The "Make me feel good" is actually something i remember from the move "Monster's Ball," but it seemed apt here. And it just felt like getting her out of her head would be useful. She's not all the way better. That takes time. But I feel like getting angry is far more useful than being guilty. Anger riles people up, calls them to action. Guilt makes us lack any motivation. Plus, you know, fiery redheads and their tempers (I hear). ;)_

_Also, random note on this, I did some (very unofficial) research into how women handled menstruation during the middle/dark ages, and apparently they used linens and such as both pads and as tampons. Apparently. So that's where that musing comes from. I just... I want my story to include all of it, from the food poisoning someone new to "travel food" would likely get, to the fact that women menstruate and have to deal with that, to the fact that having sex on your period is messy. As the saying goes, "everybody poops" - including all of my characters. It's something I wonder about when I read fantasy, so I wanted to include some of the less pleasant aspects of life in this story._

_Okay, so I am super happy to be coming to the Gauntlet. Shit is going to go **down** in the Gauntlet. I think. I'm not done writing it yet. But still. Hopefully, it'll be awesome, and live up to the buildup I've been giving it to the people I PM with (Hi, Raven Sinead, Musicalrain, and Diablo Kades!) and to myself._

_In addition, I have something random to share. It's not something that's going to be immediate, but sharing with internet strangers is the only group of people I can share with right now. I think my wife and I are going to start trying to have a baby in the next six months (as in, starting the arduous process of artificial insemination and all that). And I'm hyper as all fuck because of this prospect. And terrified at the same time. We've been talking about starting in a year, but we've been looking at the timing, and we're starting to think that we should maybe start sooner, for various reasons I won't go into. So. Hyper from excitement and terror. Eep!_


	21. Chapter 20 - Interlude

_A/N: Not much to say here. You'll recognize the conversation between Alistair and Wynne, probably. And Alistair finally stops being so damn oblivious. Not that he's going to do anything about it anytime soon..._

* * *

Chapter 20

**Interlude**

The world swam around him. He floated in a pleasant place, unsure if he was in air or water. He took in a breath – must be air. He couldn't see anything, but for whatever reason it didn't alarm him. If he chose to move, that was the sensation he got. If he chose to stay still, then he felt as though he were floating.

After a time, a sound started to come to him. It was a familiar sound, a deep, feminine voice that sounded of music. He decided to go in search of it.

* * *

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Come, Morrigan. Of course you know what I am speaking of. You are the most self-aware woman I have ever met."

Her voice got low. "I saved one of only two Gray Wardens, nothing more."

Zevran's voice simply sounded amused. "Yes, indeed. I suppose your display of strength and _altitude_ was solely based on your fear for Ferelden should the Warden die."

Morrigan's voice took on a tone of pure acid. "Think what you wish, _elf_. I owe you no explanation for my actions."

Alistair cracked open his eyes just as Morrigan turned to check on him, Zevran standing behind where she sat with a slight smirk on his face. His vision took a moment to adjust, and as his eyes focused, he saw a sight he was sure he'd never see in all his life. Morrigan wore a look of _worry_ on her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a groan came out, one that was somewhat prolonged when the pain hit him. _Maker, what happened to me?_

The look on Morrigan's face switched briefly to relief, and then to amusement. "If you are wondering what occurred to make you feel as you do, rest assured that it was very heroic. 'Twas also very _stupid_. You tried to take on a High Dragon with only shield and sword." She paused for a moment, a smirk playing on her face before she clarified. "You failed."

He let out a laugh, ending in a coughing fit. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to help him sit up. He was momentarily stunned by her _helping _him, before being overwhelmed by her proximity; her scent, of herbs and leather and linen; her warmth, radiating off of her like a furnace; the press of her bosom against his shoulder, giving him the briefest glimpse of her cleavage before he remembered himself and averted his gaze.

His vision swam only a little once he was sitting. She offered him water, passed to her by the elf, which he drank gratefully. The tickle in his throat was satisfied, and he found he was able to speak. "I remember the dragon," he explained, his voice a little hoarse, "but I don't remember what happened to me. Why does my whole body hurt?"

Morrigan's brow creased momentarily, as though she were debating something internally. "Solona was caught in the creature's jaw. She freed herself, but you did not realize that she would, I think, and you charged it. It caught you instead. Your body hurts because your armor was crushed into you. The creature's teeth punctured in several places. You were a bloody mess when it finally released you."

He chuckled slightly. "I can always trust you to give it to me straight, Morrigan."

She scoffed. "You are a grown man. 'Tis unnecessary to coddle you."

He sighed, still smiling. "I agree. Though most people would have softened the explanation anyway, if only to make it less unpleasant for themselves."

Exasperation crossed over her face. "_I_ am not _most people-_"

Zevran chuckled. "That might be the most factual statement you have ever made, Morrigan."

Alistair put his hand on her arm, silencing the protest that was on the tip of her tongue. "I know, Morrigan. And believe it or not, I'm glad for it." He followed her gaze to where his hand rested, releasing her as soon as he realized that the contact probably made her uncomfortable – she _had_ talked about how all the touching people did unnerved her. Really, it was amazing that she had allowed that small amount of contact at all, her touching him to help him up an even larger mystery. His gaze continued along his arm to his own torso, noticing that he was shirtless. He lifted the blanket over his lap curiously, discovering that they had completely disrobed him. He replaced the blanket in a rush, looking up with a blush on his face – Wynne, Morrigan, and Solona had all likely seen him! – to discover Morrigan smirking at him. The grin on Zevran's face, along with the pressure against his hands, made it clear he was unsuccessful at hiding his growing manhood.

The mage got up without a word. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she walked with a somewhat exaggerated sway to her hips as she walked away from him. It affected him in altogether embarrassing ways.

"She is certainly _all_ woman," Zevran commented, watching her walk away right alongside the Warden. "And she knows it, too."

Alistair knit his brows. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Zevran shook his head. "Nothing." He kneeled next to the Warden. "You performed a mighty feat, indeed, Warden. People like Leliana will sing of it for years: a Templar taking down a high dragon so the world could experience the Ashes. Well done, my friend – the ladies will surely be lining up to thank you, whether or not they are devout believers of Andraste." He winked.

"I… I… I don't want that!"

The elf chuckled. "No? A shame. Perhaps I can help take away some of the attention. I was there under the dragon, after all. In fact, I was nearly crushed when Solona immobilized it. Quite the clever idea she had."

"It was. But then she got herself snatched up by that dragon…" The memory made his heart pound, watching that giant creature close its mouth around her and begin shaking her like a dog shakes a bone. His heart had fallen down through his stomach, and he had unwisely drawn his sword to try to free her, forgetting that she was channeling her arcane power and likely would free herself. Just as he _did_ realize it, he found the dragon bearing down upon him. A terrible pressure overtook him, and then he had blacked out.

"Ah, yes, rushing to rescue the damsel in distress. But then _you_ were the one in distress."

"Um… how, uh, well. How was I freed?"

"Ah, yes, my favorite part," Zevran replied, eyes twinkling mischievously in the firelight. "A damsel, if you could ever call her that." At Alistair's likely blank look, he continued with a heavy sigh. "Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, rescued _you_, fair Templar."

"She… what?"

"Yes, I agree – unbelievable. And yet, it is true – I saw it with my own eyes." Zevran scooted around, getting a little more comfortable. "She took Sten's sword and summoned some energy I didn't know she possessed – likely some spell – leapt into the air, and drove it through the dragon's skull." Alistair guffawed. "Indeed, it was quite a sight, though I am sad to say I was unable to see up her skirt."

Alistair couldn't help it – he laughed, immediately choking and spluttering before it devolved into a coughing fit once more. Zevran clapped him on the back a few times, offering him water again once he had his breath back.

"Oh, Maker, I hurt," he groaned.

"You should milk it for all it is worth," Zevran informed him. "See if you can't bed one or two of the ladies with us, out of pity, if nothing else."

"But, that's awful! Besides," Alistair continued, sure in his logic. "The only ones not involved with _each other_ are Wynne and Morrigan."

"You say that as though they are obviously repugnant," Zevran countered, winking as he elaborated. "Wynne is a magnificent example of aging well, with supple breasts and a firm bottom, walking tall toward her twilight." Alistair felt his face heat thinking of the description of someone who had come to occupy the role of mother in his life. "And Morrigan is a voluptuous snake, as likely to bite you as to kiss you – what a wonderful risk to take, no?"

Alistair's eyebrows knit, his eyes narrowed. "I… stop doing that!"

Zevran feigned innocence. "Doing what, Warden?"

"So casually treating our friends as though they're only pieces of meat!"

Zevran scrutinized him. "You are not like most other men, Alistair."

Alistair's eyes remained narrowed. "Oh?"

The elf nodded. "Yes. Most men are not this earnest – when out of the company of women, most men will devolve into lecherous buffoons, boasting and laughing and carrying on like virgin teenage boys. But you do not. I respect that." He paused, getting to his feet again. "But I do think it would be okay to allow yourself your attractions, and to talk about them with someone. Especially when the one you've taken a liking to is also attracted to you."

Alistair didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant, as the elf chose that moment to turn around and walk away. _What does he mean? Someone's attracted to me?_

_Balls. Now I'm just going to be wondering…_

* * *

Alistair would be okay, but they had to rest for at least a day, more likely two, before he would be well enough to defend himself if he needed to. Wynne was exhausted, but the extra energy Morrigan and Solona had supplied, along with their dwindling supply of lyrium, had helped her take care of him fully before she absolutely _needed_ to rest. The transferring of magic was not an easy thing, leaving a mage utterly exhausted and unable to defend herself. So it wasn't a move they'd tried yet, as the two mages usually needed their energy for their own spell casting. But in this situation, with all their enemies dead, and one of only two Grey Wardens on the brink of death, it was worth the risk. It had left the other two mages completely depleted, however, and now Wynne watched as they rested, eating some of the stew Leliana had made for them all.

It had been several hours since the end of their encounter with the high dragon. Alistair had awoken once, directly after she had finished with him, Morrigan and Zevran tending to his needs before he drifted off to sleep once more. Sten had gone about butchering what parts of the dragon he could, salvaging teeth for trophies, scales for the later making of armor or weapons, and blood for the creation of powerful potions. Meat that Wynne had deemed edible was now bubbling in the pot over the fire they had built back up inside the cavern. Zevran had taken the dog and walked back to the entrance of the temple to inform Genetivi that he should make his way back to the village, as the party would not be back for several days now.

"This is actually quite tasty," the enchanter remarked, taking another bite of the impromptu stew.

"Yes, I agree. We are lucky these people had taken shelter up here," Leliana replied, replacing the pot lid and setting the wooden spoon aside. "I was delighted to find such an array of spices – and also very surprised." The bard had been very quiet since her ordeal that morning. Wynne didn't blame her – if she had killed an innocent child, she would be wracked with guilt, as well. But something had happened several hours earlier to bring Leliana from almost catatonic unless enemies were around, to simply a sadder version of her normally cheery self. She knew it had something to do with the shouting she heard from her and the Warden, and suspected it also involved whatever muffled whimpers she'd heard after that.

Despite her initial disapproval of their relationship, Wynne couldn't help but smile. Young love was a marvelous thing, and that they could find it amidst such danger and potential sorrow was magical. Perhaps Leliana was right – perhaps the Maker really did work through his creations.

"_I_ was delighted to find such soft bedrolls," Wynne answered the bard, eyeing a free one longingly. But she was on watch, such as it was, while Sten, Alistair, and the other two mages slept after their ordeal. She, too, was exhausted, but knew she would rather sleep straight through, so had elected to remain awake an extra few hours in order to accomplish that. Perhaps Zevran would take pity on her when he came back and take over for her? Or perhaps Max?

They sat in companionable silence for a time, Wynne finishing her stew, just thinking about pulling out some needlework when Zevran put in an appearance.

"Did I miss anything," he asked immediately. Wynne watched as Max bounded forward, nearly knocking Leliana over in his excitement. The dog had clearly accepted the bard as his master's mate, allowing her to command him almost as Solona did. The mage would always be his master, but Leliana occupied a special place in his dog's hierarchical view of his world.

"No, nothing has occurred while you were gone," Leliana answered him, standing up from greeting the giant dog.

"Ah well. At least there is food."

Wynne lifted an eyebrow. "You are disappointed? Surely we've had enough action even for you, Zevran."

The elf chuckled as he accepted a bowl from Leliana. "Plenty of action, it is true. But when I was with the Crows, every moment of my day was a potentially life-and-death moment. Usually the kind made by intrigue." He took a test-taste, nodding his approval to Leliana before seating himself between the women.

"Have either of you ladies decided what trophy you will keep?"

"Trophy?" Wynne knit her brows. "From the dragon? We're to keep trophies?"

"Sure," Zevran answered before taking another bite. "How else will people in taverns know what tremendous deeds you have done? You took out a high dragon, Wynne. Just imagine how many handsome Orlesian whores you can bed after boasting about _that_."

Wynne felt her face heat immediately. She should have known he would not leave that be. It was a fun night, but she was starting to think it was not worth it – it had been _weeks_ and she was still getting teasing comments from the nosy Antivan elf.

"Wait," Leliana said, and Wynne almost groaned. "Surely you're joking?"

"Did Wynne not tell you? We stayed at the Pearl in Denerim," the elf explained jovially. "She took a handsome, dark-haired Orlesian to her bed. Morrigan took a dark-haired elven man, and Alistair lost his virginity to a rather beautiful and buxom blonde. It was all almost sweet, in its own way." He tipped back the bowl to finish his meal, holding it out for more when he was through.

Wynne's heart began to pound at his explanation. "Of course I didn't tell her that! It is _rude_ and _uncouth_ to talk about such things. Though, given the amount of boasting you do, I am unsurprised you either didn't know or don't care."

"No need to get defensive, Wynne. I was merely stating facts. The bard and her Warden also discovered each other during that stop. I see no reason why we should not all be aware."

Leliana answered before Wynne could argue. "I agree with Wynne, Zevran – a lady never reveals her secrets."

Zevran studied her a moment before looking to Wynne. She wasn't sure what he saw in her face, but his amused expression softened some. "Perhaps you are right. I apologize, my dear Wynne. I sought only to tease, not to make uncomfortable. Perhaps I forget sometimes that life among lecherous men is very different from good women, yes?"

Wynne frowned a moment. She thought of what his life must have been like, in his apartment in the leather tanning district of Antiva City, with four other men sharing one bedroom, getting what love he could from prostitutes and other unsavory sorts. Thinking about that life, and how he had never been around a sincere person, softened her heart, and she smiled a little, nodding and murmuring that he was forgiven.

She saw the look Leliana gave her, a look that asked what might be developing between her and the elf, but she refused to meet it. _She_ didn't know what was developing, and had no interest in discussing it with the bard, or anyone else, for that matter. She begged out of watch not long after, going to sleep with her thoughts.

* * *

"Wynne, I… I wanted to thank you."

"There is no need, Alistair," the mage replied warmly, patting his arm. She had just finished checking him out, declaring him fit to begin travel once more on the morrow, if he avoided straining himself for the rest of the day. "I couldn't just leave you there to bleed, now could I?"

"Nonetheless, I really appreciate it." He was sitting on his bedroll, to which he'd been confined since they got him inside the cavern, getting up only to relieve himself – usually with someone's help. He would be allowed to finally wash himself the next morning, before donning his armor and embarking on (hopefully) the final leg of this accursed journey through the temple.

She smiled warmly at him. "Well, you are most welcome, young man. Though it was not I alone who healed you. Morrigan and Solona both provided me with the energy to heal you. And did you know Morrigan is the one responsible for the dragon releasing you?"

He nodded his head. "Yes. Zevran told me."

Wynne shook her head. "And I'm sure he found some way to make it lecherous."

Alistair nodded. "Mm hmm, he sure did. Something about not being able to see up her skirt."

Wynne sighed. "I suppose if he wasn't feeling up to those comments, we'd should worry something is wrong." She began gathering up her herbs, readying herself to leave the man's side. Before she could get up, though, he stopped her with a question.

"How do you know if someone likes you?"

She looked sidelong at him. "Come again?"

His skin reddened. "It's just… something Zevran said; about attraction, and me being attracted to someone who's attracted to me. I couldn't figure out what he meant at first, but I've had some time to think…" He shrugged, the flush to his face deepening.

"I… do not know, Alistair," she said honestly. "I am hardly the person to ask about a _woman_ being attracted to me." She set her things down, settling next to him. She studied him a moment. She just might know who he was talking about…

Here he was, the bastard son of a king, a virgin until only several weeks ago, raised by the Chantry, a Templar recruit. He had no siblings to tease him, no mother to be a source of tenderness, no father to educate him in being a man. Perhaps they should have a talk?

Yes, they should. It had been far too long since she'd been able to get some good-natured teasing in.

"Alistair, we should have a word."

"What is it?"

"Now that you've experienced…" She couldn't do it with a straight face, but the look on his face, so confused, befuddled, was just adorable. She chuckled. "You should know where babies come from."

The reaction was hilarious. He spluttered, became red in the face, couldn't seem to breathe, and his words seemed to abandon him. She couldn't help it – she pushed onward, a smile on her face as she winked at him.

"I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms." Alistair became redder in the face. Wynne had a very hard time not laughing as she continued. "But that's not true. Actually, what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other – or at least squirm around together without their clothes on-"

Alistair finally found his voice. "Andraste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!"

She feigned surprise. "Do you?! Do you really?"

"I certainly _hope_ so!"

She chuckled. "Awww, look. You're all red and mottled. How cute."

His eyes narrowed, a slight smile curling his lips. "You did that on _purpose_."

"Now, now, Alistair. Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because you're wicked," he stated matter-of-factly. "That frail old lady act? I'm so not fooled." He narrowed his eyes at her again. "I'm onto you now. You like to tease."

She chuckled once more. "Can you blame me? The shade of red you turn is highly entertaining – and will show up less and less the more experience you get."

His expression grew confused once more. "Wait. How do you know..."

"That you were a virgin? I hardly needed to be told." At his confused expression she explained. "I'm old enough to know when someone is a virgin or not. You weren't secretive about your tryst at the Pearl – none of us were – but I still knew it was your first time." She paused, laughing internally at the shade of red he'd turned once more. "She seemed like a lovely girl, Alistair. I'm sure she was kind, and taught you what she could?"

He swallowed. "Yes, uh, she was… or, she did… both of those things."

She patted his arm. "Good. Then I'm sure you'll know what you're getting into should you decide to brave our Witch of the Wilds."

She got up then, leaving him gaping at her as she walked away.

* * *

"Why didn't you try channeling your arcane energy into it?"

"I suppose I was worried," she answered, a little hesitantly. "I'm not used to having a lot of control. What if I decided to channel it into Wynne, and I lost myself? What if it's not a type of power that can be shared like that? It wasn't the right time to experiment."

Alistair shifted on his bedroll. "I suppose I can see that. I was just wondering, because you seemed to have ended your self-imposed ban on using it."

"It's just… almost killing Zevran scared the Hell out of me, Alistair. I recognized him and it still didn't register that I should be careful, that I should _stop_. Archers don't fire into a crowd without being sure of a shot. It should be no different for me." She shifted, moving from kneeling to sitting.

Alistair was quiet a moment before responding. "I can see how that would be a problem." He looked up at her. "What about that sword? You said it helps you control things?"

She nodded. "Yes. I don't know what it is, what's so special about it. But it isn't a normal sword, certainly. It allows me to channel the magic _through_ it."

He knit his brows. "But weren't you already doing that? I've seen you shoot flame and lightening through your regular sword."

Solona shook her head. "No, this is different. Then I was using my weapon just like my staff – to direct a spell. This weapon holds the actual _energy_. It… allows me to focus. Like I'm not holding so much power inside of me. It stores it, somehow. I can't really describe it. But it is different."

Alistair continued to knit his brows. "Didn't you say the warrior you fought was able to manipulate your spells?"

Solona sat up straight. "You're right! He caught the electricity and sent it back at me! Like I did with Morrigan in Redcliffe, only he did it with his weapon!"

"Was that something you could do before, with the sword you've been using?"

"No. I could have caught it with my body, but the blade could never have been used that way. This is… interesting."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, each thinking about the implications of what they'd discovered. It had been a day since they'd faced the dragon. He was feeling much better, and more well-rested than he had felt since Denerim. But he was starting to worry about how much time had elapsed since they left Redcliffe – almost six weeks, now. A lot of things would be better when they were finally done here. Eamon would be healed, they could all rest in a real bed, and maybe Leliana would be all the way better by then.

_Speaking of which…_

Finally, Alistair spoke up. "It feels like maybe we're not talking about it on purpose, but… how is Leliana? She seemed better right before the dragon."

Solona sighed. "She _is_ better, but she's still not herself. She's still… withdrawn."

"How did you manage to get her better?"

She hesitated. "We…" Her cheeks darkened, turning a delicate shade of red under her dark complexion. Her blushes weren't really that visible, but he was up-close, and had also come to know what they looked like. She looked up at him to see the grin he was failing at holding back a grin.

"Yes?" He prompted.

She smirked. "Asshole."

They both burst out laughing at that, causing several of their nearby companions to look to them curiously.

"Ow," Alistair cut off his laughing abruptly. "Don't make me do that again."

Solona snickered. "Then don't be such a _prig_."

"Well, we all heard you provoke her. And then there was _moaning_- Ow!"

Solona had smacked his arm at that. "Shut it, or I'll start telling everyone how you were a virgin before your little visit to the Pearl."

Alistair's jaw dropped. "How did you…?"

Solona chuckled. "Zevran let it loose to Wynne and Leliana last night. They didn't know I was still half-awake, and I heard him teasing Wynne over the _gentleman_ she took to her bed while you were all in Denerim." She winked at him. "Well done, by the way." She smirked, then, clearly not able to keep from teasing him. "Are you going to reward your knight in shining armor for saving your ass?"

His blank look just made her laugh.

"Morrigan, you dolt!"

Alistair's cheeks immediately flushed bright red. "What? Maker, no!"

"Why not? She's a beautiful woman, and clearly cares enough to save you from being mangled by a dragon."

He shook his head. "The thought of her in bed…"

"Is amazing? Everything you dream of? Come on, Alistair, she's scary, but that would be half of the fun, wouldn't it? Like taming a lion? Except probably without the 'taming' part…"

He just stared, a bewildered expression on his face.

Solona snorted. "Fine, fine. Leave your rescuer un-rewarded."

He rolled his eyes. "I still can't believe she did that. Why do you think she did?"

Solona shrugged. "Who can say? You _are_ one of only two Gray Wardens. Maybe she just wanted to make sure to have someone to bicker with? The verbal sparring the two of you share is legendary – though somewhat lackluster of late. I'm just glad she's leaving Leliana alone…"

Alistair shook his head. "Sometimes I think I liked it better when you didn't like me. All this teasing is going to get old."

Solona chuckled. "Too late now, my friend. Too late now."

* * *

Alistair hissed and groaned.

"You sure you're okay to do this yourself?"

He peeked his eyes open to look at Solona, who was helping him with his armor. "Perhaps I was being a bit optimistic in what I could handle," he admitted, abandoning his attempt to do his own straps. "But what if there's more? I can't remain unarmored if there's another fight."

"Wynne says you'll be fine in the armor once it's on. It's just twisting to reach the hard spots that's tricky. So let me help you."

He dropped his hands. "Very well."

As she got to work, occasionally asking him where the buckle for a particular strap was, he couldn't help but think back on awakening to Morrigan's presence. The brief moment of vulnerability he witnessed, her _worry_ over him, was incredibly confusing. Wynne and Zevran had told him of how Morrigan had forced the dragon to release him by sticking Sten's sword through its eye, kneeling to help keep him alive as soon as it was clear that Solona had slayed the beast. She had completely depleted her strength so that Wynne, a mage she reviled, could heal him. And then that smirk and the swaying of those hips! He was utterly confused.

And now aroused once more. He hurriedly tried to think of something else, grateful that his chest piece was in place to hide the evidence for him. He thought instead of Solona, currently strapping him into his armor. It was an almost intimate act, though so very far from sexual when she did it. It was like they were brothers? Not that he knew what _that_ was like. His only true brother never even knew they were related. But he knew now what it was to be undressed by someone, and this was not that feeling. Whatever their relationship was, it was a far cry from how she had treated him at the start, and he was grateful for the difference. They were friends, bonded by the Taint in their blood and the loss of their fellows, by the knowledge they shared as tools of the Chantry, and by their shared need to _end_ the archdemon.

These thoughts brought him to the correct frame of mind, calming his body and making it easier for him to have Solona so close comfortably. It took a bit more explaining where all the buckles were and how they worked, but within ten minutes Solona had all of his equipment strapped to him.

Once the armor was on, he drew his sword and shield and did some practice maneuvers. For the most part, he had a full range of motion, only truly having trouble or experiencing pain if he twisted all the way around. As that move was dangerous at the best of times – it made for a very weak position, no matter how strong the person attempting it was – he would probably be fine. And they could not afford to delay any longer.

Once they were all armed and armored, supplies either stowed on their persons or in the store room, they ventured out onto the plateau once more, passing the hulking form of the dead dragon and heading toward to structure across the way.


	22. Chapter 21 - The Gauntlet

_A/N notes at the bottom._

* * *

Chapter 21

**The Gauntlet**

"I bid you welcome, Pilgrim."

The spirit was old. He had come with the Ashes of the Prophet, standing guard over this threshold for time untold. It had been many years since he had allowed anyone through, to see if they were worthy. The intentions of those who lived in the village below, the descendants of those he had called friend and more, were evil. They had become corrupted through their isolation, madness running rampant through the lot of them. Even the strong bloodlines of the arcane warriors had been polluted by this madness.

An arcane warrior was before him now, different from those in the village below, yet oh-so-similar to those he had known during his time with Andraste. She had slayed the last from the descendants of the Disciples, in fact. And she was powerful, a Grey Warden, bearing the Taint in her blood. If she made it through the Gauntlet, she would learn much of her heritage, about the role the arcane warriors played in the Exalted March, in the bringing of blood magic to Thedas. They all would. And they would be able to bring it back out to the world, along with the knowledge and location of the Ashes.

The spirit stood, as it always had, protecting the threshold to the Gauntlet. The eight companions standing before him were a strange fellowship, but he knew instantly everything there was to know about them. The large follower of the Qun, the daughter of an old legend, the bard who had recently done something terrible – he knew all their histories, though he did not know what they were thinking while they did what they did.

So he asked.

"I… yes," the blonde Warden answered, guilt all over his face. "If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance, maybe…"

The former bard's face went from deep guilt to a rebellious indignation when he told her that she used to be someone special, that she might wish she were _still_ the center of attention, positive or negative. Her answer amused him, and confirmed that her faith was unshakeable, even during her sorrow, even when accusations were being made. "You're saying I made up my vision for the attention?! I did not! I know what I believe!"

The elf displayed his customary frivolity at first, eventually hiding his discomfort under flippant irritation. "Yes. The answer is yes, if that is what you wish to know. I do regret what I did. Now move on."

The giant warrior knew himself to a fault. "I have never denied that I failed the arishok, or the Qun."

The child of Flemeth did not even allow him to question her. He knew her true intentions, but also detected that her loyalty to the Wardens was true, even if her loyalty to their _cause_ was not, and allowed her to think she could deflect him.

The oldest of the lot was wise to his ways, unconcerned that he knew their histories. "You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers. There is no sense in hiding, is there? You wish to know if I wonder if I am a tool of the Chantry, of the Circle? If I doubt my own wisdom? Yes, I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely certain of himself."

Lastly, he asked the question about which he was most curious. "Do you think you failed Jowan?"

The arcane warrior took her time to answer, but ultimately gave an answer that did not surprise him, given her nature. "Yes. There must have been something more I could have done, to avoid the fate he met."

He was satisfied. "Come, Pilgrims. You have questions of your own. Speak them now."

He spoke of the history, of bringing Andraste's holy Ashes to this resting place. He spoke of the Disciples losing their way: being swayed by the preaching's of the false prophet so many years ago, of their need for something flashy in lieu of the absent Maker and his Bride. He spoke of his sadness, of his denying them access to defile the Ashes, how he watched them all slowly go mad from generation to generation. He kept to himself that the arcane warriors slowly died out, their role in Andraste's army, their role in her teachings on magic nearly - and the true meaning of her teachings - lost forever. He kept to himself that the eight before him were the last chance for the truth to be known. They would learn it in due time, and it would be up to the faithful among them to spread the truth.

"The way is open to you. Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

* * *

"Only the faithful may enter."

Solona read from the runes over the entrance to what the Guardian had dubbed The Gauntlet. _A rather ominous name._

"Well, that leaves _me_ out," Morrigan replied with a huff.

"I, as well," Sten rumbled.

Solona looked down at Max. "What about you, boy? Do you believe in Andraste?" He whimpered, looking around anxiously. "Better leave you here with Sten, just to be safe."

Alistair looked around at the rest: Leliana, Solona, himself, Wynne, and… "Zevran?"

The elf answered him jovially enough. "How do you think I have made it this far? I pray every seventh-day when I am in a town with a Chantry."

"That is… unexpected," Wynne murmured.

"So. The five of us, then." Solona looked to each of her companions who would be accompanying her to reach the Ashes. Her eyes landed on Leliana last. The bard was still subdued, guilt still playing in her eyes, but the two days spent letting Alistair heal had done her good. She had prayed a great deal, Solona keeping a loose vigil to make sure she was undisturbed. In between, they had explored the caves, talking of this and that, mostly ignoring the thing that was haunting the redhead. She had removed Leliana from her withdrawn state – the rest was up to Leliana. Solona knew she couldn't _fix_ her, not completely.

Seeing a spark of something in Leliana's eyes in the dim light, Solona's heart lifted a little. She took a deep breath and turned to the entrance. "Idle time is wasted time. Let's get on with it."

* * *

Leliana knew that Solona was worried about her. She just… couldn't shake what she'd done. Solona forcing her to face it had helped. She had clarified _why_ Leliana was so horrified by what had happened. She could see that it wasn't something _she_ had done, but more something that she was forced to clean up, someone else's mess. But the guilt was still there, a bitter reminder of all the other terrible things she'd done at Marjolaine's behest. And it made her hate herself all over again.

She hadn't even taken coin for the things she'd done. She had _reveled_ in The Game, playing it for its own sake, luxuriating in her own abilities. She had manipulated with her words and her body. Some part of her couldn't help feeling that she _deserved_ to be marked as she was – it served as a constant reminder of all the things she'd done, how she'd used her body to ruin people's lives.

Killing the boy had not been the same, but he was so innocent. Just on the cusp of manhood, probably slated to marry a girl in the village in a year or two. She had not hesitated to save Solona injury, even though they could have likely healed the mage and saved the boy. It wasn't a sure thing, but if she'd thrown with any less accuracy, she could have knocked the boy out and hope that his knife did not pierce anything vital. But her split-second decision had instead insured both their fates, where the other options were only probabilities.

She just couldn't stop thinking about it. Solona was right, of course. It was not her fault. She was not the one who convinced the boy that attacking armed warriors was a good idea. Solona had helped her to see that she should be angry with the cultists, whom she had already helped to butcher, at that point. But the last two days had done nothing but give her time to think about it, about herself.

And she wasn't sure she liked the person she was seeing.

She was not the follower of the Maker she thought she had been. She had been trying to be good, and thought she was doing a good job of repenting and making up for the things she'd done. But at the first opportunity of a moral dilemma, she'd taken the easy way out. A small voice persisted in telling her that it was not evil to save the woman she had now admitted to falling in love with. But it was a quiet voice, often drowned out by her guilt. It was loudest, the guilt most quiet, when she lay in Solona's arms, feeling her warmth, her head rising and falling with the mage's breathing.

But then that… Spirit spoke of her faith like that, and she couldn't help but get defensive. She didn't like the attention in the Chantry, dammit! But at the same time, she wouldn't relent and profess the same faith as those around her. Perhaps because she was Orlesian, and a difference in faith there was not such a big deal.

_Or perhaps_, the same small voice spoke now, _it is because he was right. You __**did**__ fear fading into obscurity in tiny Lothering, never known by another soul ever again._ The voice was right. As much as she feared being found out for what she'd been, she also feared the prospect of never letting anyone inside her defenses again, even as she made sure no one ever did.

Then Solona had completely melted those defenses by simply being _her_. If she had not been so close to Solona, would that boy have died? Would she have been better able to make a decision that would have saved more people? Was Wynne not right, then, in her assertion that having to choose between your love and everyone else was an impossible choice to face? In this case, saving Solona was the right choice, as she was one of only two Gray Wardens in a country facing a Blight. But what of Solona's choices?

She did not have the answers. She only knew that it all combined to make her feel slightly ill, and more guilty than she'd ever felt before, even when contemplating her life as a bard while with Sister Rose.

She tried to shake it off, to focus, as she stepped through the threshold to The Gauntlet behind the two Wardens.

* * *

The spirits revealed the history of Andraste's Exalted March on Tevinter. One by one, the ghost of a key player revealed their role in her demise, whether directly or indirectly.

They learned of Andraste's love for music and singing, and how the Maker first chose her because of her gift for song. They learned about the premonition that Andraste's own mother had, and how she could do nothing to stop her daughter's fate. The ghost of Hessarian's wife spoke of her wish for vengeance, to show the Imperium's strength and the weakness of the "false" prophet. They learned the truth about the Dalish elves aligning themselves with the Maker's bride against the Imperium, choosing to ally themselves with "the enemy of their enemy." Andraste's Earthly husband betrayed her out of jealousy; but mercy was shown by another, killing her quickly as she burned so that she would not suffer from the flames. Lastly, they learned how Andraste's army won against Tevinter, how the Maker smiled upon his Earthly bride and scorched the crops of those who had turned against Him.

Then Solona was suddenly faced with Jowan. Her anger flared up inside of her when she saw him. Intellectually she knew he was not real, that the magic of this holy place, where the Veil was very thin, put him in front of her because the Guardian had chosen to focus on that part of her past. And it was an incredibly important part of her past, to be certain, her friendship with him leading her to be taken from the Tower with Duncan. But her anger with him had not died. He was her brother in all but blood, her last bit of family, and he had betrayed her worse than her blood family, who turned her into the Templars, had.

His first question when she came into the hall enraged her.

"Have fun with the riddle game?"

"What? _That's_ what you have to say?"

"I know you're angry with me, Solona. You have every right to be."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "You're not Jowan. And even if you were, I have nothing left to say to him."

"Indeed. I am not him. I am your guide. You will bring two others with you. The other two will go on their own quest."

He didn't speak like Jowan, even if he had the man's voice. It was both disconcerting and comforting, as his presence had always been a comfort until their last encounter. His directions were a puzzle, though.

"I am to bring two people with me? Why must we split up?"

He smiled. "All will be revealed."

She raised an eyebrow. "You already know who will come with me, don't you?" He nodded. "And so the other two have their own journey to go on?"

"Yes. I will guide them in another form."

Solona thought for a moment. "No harm will come to them?"

"Violence begets violence. You will only come to harm if you bring it here with you."

Solona sighed. "Very well. Lead on. Alistair, Leliana? Will you accompany me? Wynne and Zevran have their own trials ahead, apparently."

As the two assented, Zevran piped up. "This should be interesting. I have had a distinct lack of mystery and intrigue in my life as of late."

Wynne sighed dramatically. "Ever the impudence, Zevran."

He chuckled, prompting Solona to smile. "Lead on, Spirit. Let us see what this trial is."

* * *

Zevran watched the two Wardens and the bard be swallowed by the blackness inside the doorway, following their Guide over the threshold. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't what happened – nothing. Nothing happened. They just remained in the hallway between the room with all the riddles and the next.

"What do you suppose we are to do," Wynne asked him, looking around at the walls, the ceiling. He was struck by how enticing the curve of her throat was as it disappeared into the collar of her robes.

"I have no idea, my dear Wynne." She had protested the use of him calling her this only a few times before she either gave up or got used to it. He supposed he should have respected her wishes, but he was becoming uncomfortably aware of how true the endearment was. At first, he'd thought his attempts to seduce her had been merely his feverishness after battle and heavy injury at Redcliffe. But then he found he was still drawn to her once he was better. He'd written it off as sexual attraction, then, something he was quite used to, trying only half-heartedly to seduce her, brushing off her moral questions with talk of her bosom, knowing it irritated her to no end.

And then that day several weeks before had come, when he had found himself prying into her past, wishing to learn more. A tiny, stubborn voice inside of him had confessed that he wanted to make her feel better, that he cared about her in a way he had not done since Rinna. It had both terrified him and thrilled him, making his heart pump wildly whenever he thought of the possibilities.

That moment when he thought she might kiss him had both thrilled him and scared him more than anything he'd ever experienced in his life – and he had just tried to skewer a dragon with a short sword. He'd desperately wanted her to, images bombarding him of the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her warm, wet center surrounding him. And, for the first time since Rinna, he'd looked forward to _after_: to lying upon her bosom and telling her of his life, something he had never shared with anyone; to making love until they grew bored, and then finding new ways to please each other; to knowing that there would be someone for whom he cared dearly waiting for him when night enveloped the world.

It scared the shit out of him, quite frankly.

And yet he couldn't shake it.

So he had handled himself with his usual sarcasm, unable to ignore it, or her, and yet unable to act, knowing that if anything were to happen, _she_ would have to initiate – she would not think him serious, would think he aimed merely to seduce, and he really could not blame her. This would be the only thing he was ever serious about in his life. Her, and Rinna.

Rinna, who had ended so spectacularly poorly. And he did not bear his guilt well. It did not go away, no matter how many men and women separated him from that time. He couldn't even manage to die, when that was all that he had wanted.

She broke him of his reverie with a question. "Why do you look at me so?"

Her eyes were curious, but hard, her demeanor one of defensiveness. She was wary, like prey when faced with an unknown predator. It broke his heart a little, that she looked at him like that, with so much distrust. _As if you know how to be trustworthy_, a small voice accused him.

_I have not broken my word to the Warden yet_, he answered.

_That is something._

"I am merely appreciating a beautiful woman, in the prime of her life." He silently cursed himself when her eyes narrowed further.

"I am not another conquest for you, Zevran."

He was about to respond when a disembodied voice sounded. "You have come to The Gauntlet. Are you worthy of Andraste's Ashes?"

"That is not for us to decide," Wynne answered after a moment of thought, a moment in which Zevran could think nothing except that he was not worthy of _her_. _I am still going to try_.

"A wise answer, from a wise woman. What of your companion, though?"

A form materialized in front of them, and Zevran's heart stopped beating for a moment. He would never forget the deep red locks of hair, the longer-than-average elven ears, the deep timbre of her voice.

It was Rinna.

* * *

"What are you to show us," Solona wanted to know.

"All will be revealed." The specter of Jowan's lips quirked up at the corners.

Solona rolled her eyes. They had walked into what she had thought would be a dark room, but had actually been a small, brightly lit room.

"What are we to do here?"

The same small smile. "All will be revealed."

_That is already getting old_.

She scrutinized the room, trying to see if there was anything she'd missed on her first cursory pass. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she heard Leliana gasp.

"Sister Rose?"

Solona turned her head to find Leliana wandering away from them, toward a figure in the corner of the room that had not been there a moment before. It opened its mouth to speak, its mouth moving with the words, but she could not hear it speak. Glancing at Alistair confirmed that he could not hear it either.

Leliana apparently _could_, however. "I do not understand, Sister Rose."

Solona knit her eyebrows. "Leliana," she murmured, starting for her lover. "Can you hear her, Leli?"

Leliana seemed unable to hear _her_, not reacting to Solona's words. She continued forward until she was next to the shadowy figure. As she walked, she transformed: her hair shortening to a ragged, uneven length; her weapons vanishing and her clothing changing to a simple, light cotton shift that went down to mid-thigh, leaving her legs otherwise bare; her skin becoming marred, covered in wounds at various stages of healing; her body becoming almost emaciated as compared with the woman Solona had become so intimately familiar.

_This is what she was reduced to after her time with the Chevaliers…_

Leliana did not seem to notice the change in her appearance. She seemed instead to be listening to the woman in the corner. Solona tried to go to her, but she found a restraining hand on her arm. Looking up, she saw Alistair had stopped her.

"I think she needs to go through this alone," he murmured. "If that's Sister Rose, then that's the woman who saved her from her tormenters, right? So maybe she can help her shake this thing with the boy." He looked hard at her. "You've done what you could for her, Solona. You've already forgiven her – we _all_ have. Maybe she needs to forgive _herself_."

Solona stopped pulling against him. "Maybe you're right." She continued to watch, helpless to support the bard in whatever encounter this would be.

* * *

The guide spoke.

"Hello Zevran."

The elf fell to his knees in front of the elven figure before them, an almost silent gasp of surprise escaping him.

"Zevran!" Wynne knelt next to him, prepared to assess him for some weakness or injury, but the guide spoke once more, halting her inquiries.

"It is not an ailment of the body which plagues this man," it said, it's Antivan-accented voice soft like honey, yet with a hard edge underneath it that brooked no arguments.

After a moment, Zevran spoke. "My last mission before I came to Ferelden… did not go well," he started, staring up at the elven woman with terror in his large eyes.

The figure smiled. "Understatement as always, Zevran. You owe her the truth. Only then can you forgive yourself; only then can she take you seriously. You mustn't hide yourself any longer."

Wynne put her hand on his shoulder. "What does she mean, Zevran?"

He turned his head to look at her, his pupils dilated to deep pools of black, his eyes wide with fear and… something else. He looked haunted. "I… loved her, once. I _still_ love her. And I killed her, Wynne. I killed her…"

Wynne knit her brows, forcing herself not to pull away. "I imagine there is more to explain…"

His shoulders slumped, and he looked to the ground. "Until that day I was cocky and arrogant," he started, his hands limp in his lap. "I was the best Crow in Antiva – or so I believed – and I bragged of my conquests often… both as an assassin, and as a lover."

Wynne was tempted to smile, despite the gravity of the situation. "And that is different from how you are now… how, exactly?"

He let out a hollow little chuckle. "Touché. I was often told I was insufferable… as I was being led to some gentle lady or handsome man's bed. But one of the masters grew tired of my boasting, and accepted my somewhat low bid for an incredibly difficult mark. My friend Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as… Rinna." Here he stopped, looking back up at the young elven woman in front of them. She stood tall, her head held proud as she looked down upon them.

"You said I was a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked, with eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything you thought you desired."

He nodded. "Yes. Rinna was special. I thought I had closed off my heart, but she held the key, melted the door and waltzed right inside. It frightened me more than anything else in my life." He took a deep breath, looking back to Wynne, who still hovered, kneeling, next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other clutching her staff. "I loved her with my whole heart, even if I did not know how to show it. It was the only time I had wanted more than to make love to someone."

He closed his eyes and continued. "So you can imagine I was more than heartbroken when Taliesen told me she had accepted a bribe from the merchant we were sent to assassinate, that she had told him of our plan. I agreed that she needed to pay the price for that disloyalty to the Crows, and I agreed that he should kill her."

Then Wynne saw something she thought she never would see ever in her life. A tear welled in the corner of his eye, falling ever so slowly, tracing a line down his cheek. It was the guide who spoke, however.

"I begged him not to," she said, coming to kneel before them. "On my knees, with tears in my eyes, I told him how I loved him, how I had not betrayed them or the Crows."

Zevran turned to the elven woman, weeping eyes now open. "I laughed in your face. I told you I did not care that you loved me, that it did not matter."

The guide nodded. "And then Taleisen cut my throat. You watched as I bled, spat on me for betraying your masters."

"But it _did_ matter. I had killed my love, the only person to ever show me any kind of tenderness beyond the bedchamber, the only person to touch my heart. And then we found the truth when we finally assassinated the mark, that it was someone else who had betrayed us, not Rinna. Taleisen convinced me not to tell the Crows that Rinna died at our hands, so we returned saying she'd been a casualty of the mission. But they knew what we had done; the master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said they knew, and they didn't care. She didn't matter, and neither did I. One day my turn would come."

The guide reached out to touch him, cupping his chin to force him to look at her. "They told you I was nothing to them. But I was everything to you. And you wanted to die. You _wanted_ your turn to come."

Zevran took a shuddering breath. "Yes." His voice sounded as though it was ripped from his throat. "After months of wallowing, I took the most dangerous mission I could, throwing myself at the Grey Wardens, hoping to die. It is only by their merciful hands that I did not perish."

Their guide let his head go, standing and moving away. Zevran collapsed into silent sobs, crumbling in on himself in his sorrow. Wynne simply couldn't take it. She leaned forward, pulling his head on to her lap. She stroked his hair, murmuring close to his ears as he hugged her knees, letting him mourn in a way he was never allowed.

Wynne's heart broke for him. In his own way, he had thought he had put down a traitor, someone who had taken his tender heart, which he had only just opened up to her, and trodden on it. Instead, he learned that _he_ was the traitor, betraying his love and spitting in her face as she died. Here was a little boy who never learned right from wrong, learning those lessons for himself the hard way instead. Now he was a man who carried those burdens with him every waking moment, probably trying desperately to bury his regret in any way he could. It really was amazing he was still as put-together as he was. She could not help but to feel pity for the poor wreck of a man now clinging desperately to her, soaking her robes with his tears.

After a time, the guide spoke once more. "Do you still wish to die, Zevran?"

He lifted his head from Wynne's lap. He considered the ghost of his love for a moment before answering. "No."

"Why, Zevran? Why do you no longer wish to die?"

He sniffed, sitting up from Wynne and wiping his eyes. "I am free of the Crows. I have a purpose, a mission that will change things for the better, allowing me to atone for my sins. And…"

"Yes? The Maker's forgiveness only goes so far. He has forgiven you. Now you only have yourself, and your love, left to forgive you."

Wynne was surprised to see Zevran turn to face her. "And I care very deeply for someone. It terrifies me, but I can deny my heart no longer."

Wynne blinked stupidly. "What do you mean?"

"Wynne. My dear Wynne. I do not say the things I say in jest. You are… remarkable, and I would have the chance to… to court you, if you would permit it."

His eyes shone with the tears he shed, but they were now clear, his face and nose dry. His expression was serious – more serious than she'd ever seen him, even that night on the road when she had healed him of the injuries wrought by Solona. She gazed into those nearly black eyes, and she saw only earnest affection, the haunted look, that she only now realized he'd always worn, having gone completely from those eyes.

She didn't have any words. She was afraid. She had felt love before, and it had backfired so marvelously. But here she was, possibly at the end of her life, helping to fight the Blight. If she would ever have a chance for love, now would be it, wouldn't it? And why not this man, this misfit in his own right? Her magic did not scare him, her body did not confuse him, and her mind only seemed to intrigue him. He knew how to make her smile, and he had just bared his soul for her to see. If a mage could love a bard, then why not a mage love an assassin?

Coming to her decision, she leaned forward once more, covering his lips with her own.

* * *

"Why are you so sad, Leliana?"

Leliana sank to her knees by Sister Rose's side, absently adjusting her shift so that it didn't pull at her healing skin. "I have done something terrible, Sister," she started, unable to meet the woman's gaze. "I… I killed a boy. A young man, really. Just on the cusp of manhood." Her eyes became moist, heat rising behind them. "He would probably have married in the next year or two, had children, worked his family's land."

"Why did you kill him, dear?"

She finally looked up into those eyes, a warm, soft brown that reflected only goodness. "He was coerced into attacking someone I… care very deeply for," she answered, haltingly, hesitating at almost every word. "In the heat of battle, I made a judgment, and threw my dagger. It was the wrong choice, and I killed an innocent."

"But he wielded a blade, did he not?"

"Yes…"

"And he was old enough to know the consequences of his actions? That people who are threatened will defend themselves? That he was fighting seasoned warriors?"

"Yes, I suppose…"

"That's right, my pet." This was a new voice. Her head snapped up to find Marjolaine walking toward her, cleavage shown to full advantage in a dress that was cut scandalously low. She stalked closer, each step a precise movement of her foot, as always. Her hands were free, but there were blades undoubtedly close-at-hand, as was her way. Her long, luscious brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her dark eyes gleamed predatorily in the nameless light of the room. "Assuage your guilt. You were always so good at it."

_Maker, that voice! Even now it drips with seduction…_

And yet she was terrified, unable to move for the conflicting emotions her old lover presented. Here she was, in front of her love, the one who had turned her in to the Chevaliers, coming down to the dungeons to mock her, to tell her that she had called it upon herself. The pain of every lash had been multiplied tenfold in her heartbreak. Her violation had bore into her soul that much more because it had been the woman she loved with all her being who had ultimately ensured it happened to her. The cold in her cell was colder, the heat of the irons hotter, the parch in her throat burning worse, all because of this woman.

"You need not listen to her any longer, Leliana – you have accepted the Maker, and He shall protect you, has forgiven you your sins." Leliana whipped her head back around as Sister Rose spoke.

"You were always such a _good_ actress, my pretty thing," Marjolaine cooed, stopping close enough for Leliana to reach out and touch her. "Now the Chantry Sister, so good and pious. But that was thrown out the door once your little tramp Warden came along and swept you off your feet, didn't it?" She leaned down, getting close enough for Leliana to smell her sweet, familiar breath. "Tell me, Leliana. Is she a good fuck? Does she make you feel as good as I did?"

"You need not carry your sins with you, Leliana," Sister Rose countered, a calm rock in the sea of confusion that was threatening to drown her. "You are not that person any longer. You may use the skills you learned, but you walk the Maker's path now."

Marjolaine laughed, the sound low and mocking, as it always had been, even when they were lying naked together, sweaty after having fucked each other limp. "You have not _changed_! Look at you! The first chance you have, and you take the easy choice, kill the one in your way – just as I taught you to do! You are _ever_ the bard, Leliana. A few years of peace and quiet in this miserable country that smells of wet dog will not change what you were _born_ to do. Neither will a few nights with that dark-skinned harlot you've taken to your bed."

Leliana's heart pounded. She hurt all over, the light too bright for her eyes, the cotton shift too much for her wounds, the stone of the ground too rough for her skin. And yet she lacked the will or the strength to move, to get up from her painful position, or even to close her eyes to the harsh illumination. Marjolaine's words cut like a white-hot knife, cutting down to her very soul as if through butter.

Sister Rose's words were like a balm, and she tried desperately to cling to them, but she was quickly failing. The pain was too intense, too sharp to be ignored, or even soothed. It was quickly becoming too much. She wanted to scream.

But as she was getting ready to give in, a voice rose above everything else. "Remember your vision, Leliana! The dark clouds that you fell toward, then the rose in the garden the next morning! You _know_ you saw it! You know it was not something you conjured in your mind!"

_Solona_.

The vision sprang to mind, and she knew the mage was right. She had pricked her finger on that rose, verifying its veracity. The revered-mother had even confirmed it was there, mystified by its presence. _That_ was something that was not in her head. It was real, something she could touch, something that could not be warped by her guilt or her desire to make it right.

"No," she said, softly, lifting her head to Marjolaine. "People can change. _I _have changed. I am not perfect, but I have purpose, someone who cares for me, and my faith will not be shaken by the likes of _you_." Marjolaine leaned away, a look of worry passing briefly over her face before she smiled and opened her mouth to speak once more.

Only this time Leliana wouldn't let her. Before the older Orlesian could speak, Leliana was on her feet, a dagger in her hand. She brought it to her former lover's throat and slashed it in a single movement. The woman's blood spilled forth, coating Leliana in it.

"How could you," the dying bard whispered, gurgled, as her life bled away.

Leliana's gaze hardened. "I am merely using the skills you taught me. You were in my way, keeping me from myself by haunting me. Now you are not. _Adieu_, Marjolaine. May you know peace in the arms of the Maker."

"Sometimes, a death is necessary for the greater good to take place," Sister Rose intoned, remaining seated in her chair. "You did what was best at the time, Leliana. Far worse would it be for someone in your party to die, for the Blight to take Ferelden, and then all of Thedas. Far worse would it be for this place to be forever lost to the likes of Kolgrim and Eirich. The Maker may have fled his Creations, leaving them to their own devices, but He still loves them, even as they flounder. You are not wrong to believe as you do – the Maker still loves his creations."

Then she was gone. Marjolaine was gone. Marjolaine's _blood_ was gone. Instead, Leliana stood with her weapon in her hand, trembling where she stood, facing an empty corner, her appearance once more what it had been when they entered this place. Not two seconds later, she found herself engulfed in familiar strong, protective arms. She dropped her weapon, surrendering to that embrace, digging her fingers into the just-mended leathers of her lover's armor. She let herself simply _feel_, mourning the loss of a young, innocent boy; of an equally young, innocent Leliana; the life she'd badly wanted but never would have had with Marjolaine. The hurt was soothed, though, by the knowledge that her new life was better than either of the lives she'd lost, both of them to Marjolaine. She sighed, content for the moment to simply feel her love and know that she was not, in fact, a monster.

* * *

_A/N: A couple of notes here. First of all, the comment she makes about idle time being wasted time - the voice I chose for my Warden said this ALL THE DAMN TIME. All the time. She was married to that phrase. So I thought I'd throw it in for those who would recognize it._

_Secondly, you start to get a hint of what's going to be revealed in the rest of this quest. I had to split it in two for obvious reasons - it would have been like a 15,000 word chapter otherwise. Plus this was just a natural place to put a break._

_Third, I just wanted to make a comment on Zevran here. In-game, he is a womanizer, a man-whore, a frivolous assassin who makes many observations and flirts with everyone. But I feel like there's more to him. He was raised communally by whores, then sold to the Crows. Here, he lived hand-to-mouth, being rewarded for being selfish. If he could take it, or trick it, away from someone else then it was his. He didn't learn right from wrong. he never learned what "fair" was. He never got any tenderness from a parent or a sibling, or even a friend. This is why I think he is so sexual - it's the only hint of tenderness he's ever received from **anyone**, and he craves that tenderness desperately. Maybe there's some Freudian things going on here with his attraction to a woman old enough to be his mother. I don't know. I just think that they could potentially help heal each other of their mutual brokenness. I hadn't planned this romance, but they sure did demand I let them go there._

_Lastly, I can't decide it this should stand in for the confrontation with Marjolaine, or if I should **also** have that later on. It seems a little silly to have two, but it would be very un-canon to not have the final confrontation, where she insults Leliana in front of Solona and then they kill her. I feel like Leliana needed to have this happen while she's in the Gauntlet, since she's the most haunted of them all. And my Leliana would take it into her own hands to kill this woman who has been figuratively (and literally in this scene) haunting her. So I'm taking your input on that - please please please let me know what you think. Right now I'm leaning toward having this standing in for that confrontation. But if y'all think I should have the final confrontation, as well, then I will definitely consider it._

_Okay, so. We're all caught up to what I've written. Also I'm currently sick, so coherence is... debatable. In addition, my wife's computer is in the shop, and she has law school stuff that needs to get done, so she's been using my computer to do so. As those late-night hours when she works are when I usually work on the main meat of my story, it may delay my writing. I do know **what** I wanna write next, but finding the time and motivation to do it while I feel like crap and while my computer is being used by someone else is another story. So, I apologize in advance for the likely delay there will be. Hopefully not more than a week, but we'll see.  
_


	23. Chapter 22 - The Ashes

_If you celebrated the Fourth of July in the US, I hope it was swell. Mine sucked balls. But I spent the weekend with my family (unfortunately not writing), so that was good._

_A/N at the end. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 22

**The Ashes**

Alistair looked around the room, trying to give Leliana and Solona what small amount of privacy he could. He was still in shock over what he had seen. He hadn't realized – though thinking about it now, it made perfect sense – how _marked_ Leliana had been by her time with the Chevaliers. Surely she had scars? Not even healing magic could leave her skin smooth after the mess of wounds he'd been able to see on her body. He didn't know for sure – the one time he'd seen her in just her nightshirt, he wasn't exactly paying attention, as he had been busy fighting Darkspawn in naught but his skin.

Some wounds on the bard had been scabbed, some open and weeping. The shift she'd been wearing was as much pink and red as it was white, blotched in long lines, likely where she'd opened something by stretching the wrong way. Or perhaps Sister Rose was trying to reduce her scarring by periodically removing the scabs? He'd heard of that done before. It was excruciating, but effective. Either way, he was thoroughly horrified by the sheer amount of torture she'd clearly gone through; horrified, and impressed, that such a small woman, from such a spoiled upbringing, could take such a punishment and come back from it with such faith, and such personality. Lesser women – and lesser men – would have just given up, let themselves fade away, or taken their own lives.

He hadn't been able to hear anything the two slightly translucent women were saying, but reading Leliana's body language was enough. Seeing how the brunette woman leaned in toward the bard, seeing how Leliana cringed away; watching Leliana's head whip back from person to person as their mouths opened; hearing Leliana's confession at the beginning. He'd jumped out of surprise when Solona shouted to Leliana about her vision, he'd been so wrapped up in watching the silent exchange before him. He'd nearly cheered openly at Leliana's words as the woman she identified as Marjolaine lay dying at her feet.

And now here they were, the two hugging and kissing and murmuring to each other. He glanced over once more to see Solona looking at him. She gestured with her head that he should come over, so he did, laying a hand on Leliana's back. Solona's hand shot out and gripped his shoulder pauldron, pulling him in for a hug. He let out a laugh right alongside Leliana, and then they were all laughing uproariously in relief, tension melting away from them.

"I see we missed a party."

He looked up to see Zevran and Wynne entering the room. They seemed… different, somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it, so he shrugged it off. Letting go of Leliana and Solona, he turned to face them.

"Not really," he said, shrugging and shaking out the rest of the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders since Leliana's transformation. "You two had an interesting time?"

Wynne blushed, for some reason Alistair was sure he'd never know. "No… and yes. It was not pleasant, but it was needed."

"Well, that's, uh…" He was saved from having to say anything more by a doorway suddenly appearing in the wall next to them.

"I guess it's time to go," Solona said, releasing Leliana, but retaining hold on her hand. "Let's get on with this. I'm tired of this damned mountain."

He let out a chuckle. "Truer words have never been spoken." He followed them through, not sure what would come, but certain it couldn't be worse than what he'd just seen.

* * *

_She sat on her bedroll, writing in a journal. She had a voice for singing, would sing this eventually, but the words were coming to her now almost faster than she could write them. A Dalish sat across from her, the keeper of his clan, wielding powerful magic to keep them safe, keep them from going hungry, to protect them from Men, who felt elves were beneath them. Next to him sat one of her elite warriors, wielding mundane and arcane powers alike in a dizzying display of power. But she did not wield the power lightly, did not use it to subjugate the Maker's children. No, she protected them. She saw the injustice and worked to correct it._

_After a time, she finished, writing the last of the words that would come to her that night. Now was the time for speaking, for communing with her followers. She set aside ink and quill, placed her hands in her lap, and looked up at the two in front of her._

_"What can I help you with?"_

_"Our warriors, My Lady. They grow impatient. Your army grows to resent them. They must hear from your lips what you have to say, for they mutter that my brethren are no better than the Imperium, despite our showing them that we are very different."_

_"They also grow leery of the Dalish," the Keeper told her. "There has been talk. The humans are unaware we can hear it, but we can, and it worries me. They do not see us as equals, and the fact that I and the other Keepers use magic makes them distrust us even more."_

_She considered them. She was aware of the unrest, but had been hoping to alleviate their worries through action. Perhaps that was not how it would be._

_Nodding, she rose, exited her tent, and called all those following her to meet in the meadow near their camp. Once there, she sang. She sang of the Maker's love for His creations, and how sad He was to no longer take an active role in their lives, but how it was necessary for them to grow. She sang of how magic should never be used to subjugate Man, only to help him. She distinguished the magic her followers used from the magic of the Imperium. By the time she was through, worries had been alleviated, and the elves, soldiers, and arcane warriors were standing as a single people once more._

* * *

_This new magic was frightening. Frightening, and intoxicating. She could see it in their eyes. Even the mages she had fighting on her side were tempted, she could tell. It took power from people, took the life energy from their very blood. It's intoxicating nature drew demons to its practitioner. More than once in battle, a Magister had transformed, a demon overtaking his body and rampaging until one of her Elite was able to get close enough to destroy it._

_The first time the blood of the battlefield was used against her army, they were almost routed. But faith surged forth once more when her Elite burst through the line. Their power was still stronger. These men and women were in control, would not be swayed by demons. The mages took heart and pressed on, in turn rallying her soldiers. They had pushed back the Magisters, who used their fallen comrades' blood against them in attempt to make them quit the field._

_She had rejoiced, thanked the Maker, and sung His Song, her Chant, over the field of victory._

_Now, though, they stacked the bundles of wood at her feet, a man with a torch standing by. She would die, but she would die a martyr. They had stripped her of her hair, tied her naked to the pole. Her husband, Mefareth, stood by, unable to look her in the eye, and yet unable to look away from her form. He had betrayed her, drugging her and taking her into the hands of the enemy. And now he stood with them._

_She held her head high as the torch was brought to the twigs under the larger logs. Hessarian ordered the man to light the wood, and it seemed the heat reached her immediately. She stood strong, boring her gaze into Hessarian's face as her skin began to heat. His eyes finally flicked up to hers when she could no longer hold back her cries. Even as she screamed she held his gaze. She saw his eyes change, knew the Maker had spoken to him. Her heart soared with relief and joy that she would know her Maker as the sword was drawn._

_She felt nothing but gratitude – for the end of the pain, for the chance to be at her beloved Maker's side – when the sword entered her skin and pierced her heart._

* * *

_Andraste was dead. At the hands of the Imperium. And not only that. Encountering the power channeled by her arcane warriors, the Magisters had made a deal with demons, bringing a new magic, a deadly, dangerous magic, intoxicating, to this world, a power that drew demons to the practitioner like a moth to a flame. A magic that used the very life-essence in the blood of the fallen; requiring more strength of will, more resolve, than any mortal person could muster for long. The world would never be the same._

_The arcane warriors and all others who had survived fled with Her Ashes, traveling for many a day until one among them found a suitable mountain. The leader of the arcane warriors confirmed that it was indeed a holy place, the Veil thin here, allowing the Maker, and benevolent spirits, to commune with them without harm. This would be the resting place of the Ashes. And they would live below, protect it, hopefully spread her Word, and their order of warriors, all throughout Thedas. They would work to make her House for Mages a reality. There was hope yet, even with her death._

* * *

He watched them walk into the next room, only to almost fall into the gaping chasm in front of them. Scarcely five feet of a ledge between the doorway and an abyss with no visible bottom, and then the doorway vanished once the last person was through. He watched _them _watch in awe as Andraste was shown to them, writing the Chant, speaking with her advisors, singing to her people until all unrest was gone. They watched as Andraste and her army marched on the Imperium, and they saw the Magisters in communion with demons, coming out of the Fade with the knowledge of blood magic. They watched as it became clear that the blood magic still wasn't enough to turn the tide against the arcane warriors that made up the elite of Andraste's army. The thing that conquered her army was betrayal – Andraste's earthly husband betrayed her to the Imperium, and she was killed. The survivors scattered, those closest to the Prophet gathering Her Ashes and bringing them to this very mountaintop. They settled in the village below.

That was where the vision before them stopped. The vivid colors of the scene disappeared, and in their place hovered the Guardian. He descended to their level slowly, finally alighting on a bridge of light that appeared as he landed upon it.

"You have seen the history," he said, his voice echoing just as it had earlier. "You have questions. I am here to answer them."

The arcane warrior spoke without hesitation. "The Chantry and the Circle interprets the Chant of Light to say that mages should be kept under lock and key. Is that incorrect?"

He nodded, knowing she would want clarification, knowing that this injustice was what weighed most heavily on her mind. "Andraste never wanted subjugation for any of the Maker's subjects. Magic is a gift from the Maker, and it should be used to the betterment of all His creations. The Tevinter Imperium used magic for selfish gain: they enslaved the elvhen, made war and conquest upon their neighbors, and, in the end, made a deal with demons in order to win against the warriors who channeled the Maker's gift so closely. They still did not win, instead unleashing blood magic upon the land, making a pact with demons that plagues you even today. After seeing that, those survivors who started the Chantry took hold of Andraste's words on magic and, over time, it was distorted to the message preached today."

"And what of the arcane warriors," she asked, brows knit almost to the point of meeting each other over her eyes. "Why did I battle one here? Why are there no others? Why am I one, if I am not descended from those in the village? Why does no one know of them?"

"All of her Elite came here. The Chantry no longer knows of their involvement in the Exalted March. You are descended from an arcane warrior who did not settle in this village, however – Andraste's Elite were not the only arcane warriors in Thedas, Warden. Magic runs strongly in your blood. The trials of being a Warden are what unlocked the power for you – had you stayed in the Circle, you never would have been challenged enough to discover the well of power you have within you. Andraste's Elite were the core of her army, using magic to serve the Maker and their fellows, men and elves alike who had learned to channel their Maker-given gifts straight from the Fade."

"My magic has something to do with the Fade?"

"Yes. You can enter and exit it at will, without the aid of spells or lyrium. This is because you exist very much like this holy place – the Veil within you, keeping your soul in your body, is thinner. But because it is natural, instead of ripping your soul from your body, you can traverse that barrier at will while inviting no harm. Andraste and her Elite knew this, knew that their magic could be harnessed for good, and they recruited and trained every mage and warrior they could, seeking out those like them to add to their ranks; very much like the Grey Wardens in that regard. This is what Duncan saw in you, Warden; this is the thing that made you different, someone who could contribute to his Order. He did not know exactly this, of course, that you were the only one left of an ancient Order; he knew only that you possessed some quality that made you stand out. But it is, nonetheless, why you are a Warden, why you are not in the Tower any longer."

"So Andraste wasn't preaching _against_ magic." The male Warden spoke now. "She was speaking more about selfishness and greed."

The Guardian nodded his head. "Indeed."

"This changes… _everything_." The arcane warrior traded glances with the elder mage. "Wynne, it changes _everything_! The Circle was never meant to be a prison! It was meant to be an academy! 'A House for Mages' was meant to be a place of learning, where those with the gift would learn more, and where arcane warriors could be found and given special training!" She glanced at the Guardian for confirmation, and he nodded once more, glad she was able to make that connection on her own.

"That… makes sense," the bard said. "The lines in the Chant that mention magic, the history the Chantry has of Andraste's idea for a 'house for all mages.' I can see how those who survived might think all mages were problematic, because of the Imperium, because of their blood magic, because those two things killed their Prophet – or at least appeared to. So the truth was distorted, or not remembered correctly, and people have suffered for it."

"Spirit," the elder mage addressed him. "Should we attempt to make a change? Should we spread this truth? Should we change the nature of the Circle?"

He smiled. "What do you think, Senior Enchanter?"

She scrutinized him for a moment. "Yes. Yes, the truth of Andraste should be spread. Mages should be taught they have a gift to use for the Maker, not held in a cage because they're told it's a curse. People should be able to come to this place, make a pilgrimage and see the truth for themselves."

He nodded, staying silent, awaiting their next question. He knew what it would be, but it had fallen out of their focus, since they had not had a battle in several days. Finally, it was the Antivan assassin who spoke. "What of the sword?"

A chorus of agreement echoed, his companions somewhat incredulous that they'd forgotten. The female Warden drew it, holding it out with two hands as though to hand it to him, should he wish to take it.

"Ah, yes. That is a sword of Dwarven-make, made for Andraste's Elite long ago."

"But," the male Warden interjected. "I've never seen anything so… _pretty_ made by the dwarves."

"The dwarves are capable of almost magical feats with metal and lyrium. Just because they themselves prefer a blocky style, does not mean they can make nothing else." The Warden looked sheepish, mumbling an apology for interrupting. "Each of Andraste's Elite were gifted a weapon of his or her choice, which allowed the warrior to channel the energy through it, helping to maintain control at all times."

"So, the animal nature that overtakes me is… normal?" She no longer held her sword out, alternating between examining it and looking up to him for his answers.

He nodded. "It can be tempered. There are exercises that can be done to help maintain focus, to help you find your calm. Practiced often, you can retain your control in combat. When combined with this weapon, your fellows would hardly be able to tell when you are and are not channeling the arcane energy."

"Except for the creepy glowing eyes," the other Warden mumbled, eliciting a chuckle from several of his companions.

"Indeed." He looked around at them for a moment, then continued. "Each warrior also had a special set of armor made, also a gift from the dwarves. It did not channel the energy as the weapon did, but it was strong and light, heavily enchanted to shield against magical attacks from mages who attacked from afar – as the Magisters tended to do."

"Are you saying that the dwarves will have more information for me?" She looked up at him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

He smiled once more. "You are ready," he said simply before rising from the bridge, ignoring their startled shouts and inquiries.

After a few minutes, they gave up and approached the bridge. They studied it for several minutes before the bard, leading her lover by the hand, and the mage, leading the assassin by the hand, both took a step of faith, walking with heads held high across the chasm below. The moment the party crossed, the bridge disappeared, leaving them with only one way to go – forward.

* * *

The light-bridge was strange. They observed it for several minutes, wondering aloud if it was safe. Zevran made a cursory sweep of the ledge they were standing on, searching for a triggering mechanism that might make it solid, or at least make something _happen_, but to no avail. Finally, Leliana exchanged a few words with Wynne, took Solona by the hand, and stepped out onto the light.

Alistair had expected her to fall, but she did not, and he hurried to follow them, wondering slightly at Wynne continuing to hold Zevran by the hand even after the elf was walking. He knew he couldn't hesitate, that this must be some test of faith, so he forced himself to look only at his companions' retreating heads until he was safely off the ledge and on the bridge itself. It seemed solid enough, so he chanced a glance down. It wasn't a pleasant experience to be able to see through the bridge, and to not be able to see the bottom below. But the bridge continued to hold, so he shrugged it off as best he could. They had said the Veil was thin here, magic and benevolent spirits in such abundance that weird things were bound to happen.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The bridge blinked out of existence as soon as his foot landed on stone on the other side. He almost jumped, so startled by its disappearance was he, but he managed not to fall, rushing forward to get away from the ledge.

He and heights were not friends. There had been more than one reason he had not wished to venture to the top of the Tower of Ishal.

Up ahead was a giant statue of gold in the likeness of Andraste. But what drew his eyes was the wall of flame before it. It stretched from wall to wall, with no apparent break or gap. How were they supposed to pass?

Solona made her way to a small, raised pedestal of stone; some kind of altar, perhaps. It had a tablet on it, and she read the words aloud. "'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight.'" She looked up. "Any ideas on what it means?"

Alistair hadn't the foggiest.

"Read it again," Zevran said, coming to stand next to her. She complied, reading it through several more times before Leliana let out an "aha!"

"I know what we must do." She looked up to Solona, then found Alistair's eyes. "We may not like it, but it is the only way forward."

"What is it, Leli?" Solona came to her, her eyebrows pinched in worry. It occurred to Alistair that the mage was probably feeling more protective than normal after witnessing her struggle in the previous chamber.

In answer, Leliana shrugged, giving Solona a wan smile before reaching up and undoing the buckle of her shoulder pauldrons. She continued, relieving herself of first her weapons and then her armor.

"Maker, Leliana! What are you _doing_?"

"What she must," Zevran answered, reaching up and beginning the same process himself.

Alistair was confused. "I'm still not sure I…" And then it hit him. Riddles had never been what he was best at, but they generally eventually came to him. Lord and beggar had one thing in common – everybody was born naked. _And the stone said something about being born anew_…

He was paralyzed as he watched his companions undress. First came off the armor, then the cotton clothes underneath, and finally their smallclothes. He couldn't rip his eyes away. Solona he'd seen naked, nothing new there – though he could admit, distantly, that she was attractive, while simultaneously noting that the sight of her did not arouse his desire. Zevran was remarkably like any male human, though of smaller stature, and not nearly as muscled as most fighting men; probably something to do with stealth and speed, and not using freakishly heavy arms and armor. Wynne was still firm, with very few wrinkles, just as Zevran had predicted.

But Leliana. Leliana was indeed covered in scars. Long, jagged white lines crisscrossed her back, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs and calves. How could he have possibly missed that? He must have been too worried about fighting for his life, and then Zevran's close call. He watched Solona lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, enfold her in an embrace, kiss her hair-

"Enjoying the show?" He snapped out of his paralysis to find Wynne with her arms folded over her chest, one eyebrow raised.

"I, uh, can't take my own armor off," he admitted, blushing furiously and looking to the floor. "Solona had to help me put it on this morning."

"No problem," Zevran answered, cracking his knuckles before rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. He stood proud, completely unashamed of his nudity. "I have _plenty_ of experience getting strapping young men out of their armor."

Wynne smacked his shoulder lightly. "Zevran, really!"

"What?"

"We are before the earthly remains of the Prophet and still you cannot help but lewdly jest!"

He shrugged. "They wanted me to be sincere, not lie. I _sincerely_ have much experience with a man's plate armor."

Alistair laughed, then surrendered. "Do what you will."

Zevran's eyes gleamed again. "Be careful what you wish for, Warden."

Zevran, as it turned out, was far more efficient than Solona had been, leaving Alistair unarmored in just a few minutes. His clothing he could handle himself, turning to hide himself from his companions until he was entirely undressed.

"Alright, let's get this over with, shall we?" Solona stood hand-in-hand with Leliana, looking to him, seeing if he was ready. He nodded, eliciting a nod from her in response before she turned back to the flames. She and Leliana both took a visible deep breath and took a step as one.

He wanted to cry out, wanted to reach out and stop them. He expected the flame to blister their skin, to burn their hair. Instead, they stopped inside the flame for a moment, then continued on unharmed to the other side. Shaking his head, he joined Zevran and Wynne, determined to not be last, to show his faith in this holy place.

The flame was hot – very hot. But it did not burn him. He was forced to pause as it engulfed his body, and it worried him momentarily. Would the flames burn him if he were still? What would that mean – that he was not worthy? He'd never had to question his faith in the Maker, in Andraste, but then again, he'd never been in a position to have it questioned. Growing up in the Chantry made it just sort of a given. Was a he a true believer? He'd made it this far, but none of the conflicts so far really concerned him directly.

But that new information about Andraste… learning that had made him start to doubt. Not his faith, per se; more the teachings he'd learned. Duncan had helped him to see that the Templars were every bit as corrupt as they were good. But with this new information, he couldn't help but think that Andraste would look at her Chantry and weep. She didn't want mages persecuted, apostates killed by Templars, children ripped from their families and taken away. She wanted mages to use their gifts for the good of the world, the good of the Maker.

He vowed to himself to do what he could to right that wrong.

_And with that, you have proven yourself worthy, Warden_.

The words appeared in his mind, voiced and yet not, and he was allowed to pass through the flames, his body unblemished, his mind clear. He could see exactly what he needed to do, and though it terrified him, he swore he would do it.

If Eamon asked him to, he would take the Crown. It was the only way he could ensure that what he saw here was taught, that the false teachings of the Chantry were corrected, that the plight of the mages was heard and responded to.

As he stepped forward, out of the flames, he felt remarkably light, like he could go running for half a day. Given that he had been feeling run-down from his still-healing injuries, this really was quite remarkable. Before he could question it, however, the now-familiar voice of the Guardian echoed from behind him.

"You have proven yourself worthy. You have walked the path of Andraste, learned of Her and Her history, Her friends and foes, and you have passed through the cleansing, healing Flames. You have been healed and refreshed from your trials to get here. You may now each approach the Ashes and take a pinch for yourselves."

_Well, that explains why I suddenly feel so good. I __**did**__ try to get eaten by a dragon in order to get here. If that isn't a trial, I don't know what is._

Feeling so much better meant he needed no one's help getting his armor back on, so, as the Guardian disappeared in a misty haze, he moved to where he'd left it, beginning the task with a lighter heart than last time.

* * *

Solona approached the Ashes alone. Taking out a clean vial, she reached a hand in, shaking slightly at the prospect of touching _the_ Ashes, and deposited her pinch into the vial. Placing the now-stoppered vial back inside her hip-pouch, she looked up to study the statue looming above her.

It was very large, and made of gold. It was in the likeness of Andraste, and yet looked different from any statue she'd seen. It was… more realistic, somehow, like it was a live person holding very still instead of a statue of inanimate stone. _Another magical aspect of this place_.

She thought of all she'd learned about the woman. The Prophet Andraste had been a _friend_ to mages. She had preached that mages should use their powers for the good of the people, rather than the good of themselves. Mages were an integral part of her army. Arcane warriors – like herself – were the crux of her army against the Imperium.

And Solona herself could be descended from one of those warriors.

Her heart soared at the knowledge. She was tempted to feel bitter toward the Circle, toward the Chantry, toward the men and women who left Andraste's side and scattered after their defeat. But she remembered Leliana, their conversation by the lake, and tried to put herself in their shoes. These people, likely uneducated, former slaves, had only been oppressed by magic, and had only their memory of the Prophet and her writings with which to construct the church that Andraste herself was supposed to form. For a brief, shining moment, magic was used to aid them. But, in the end, they saw it bring only death and pain, the Magisters using blood magic – which may have looked startlingly like arcane energy to those untrained to know the difference – to kill them, oppress them, chain them, enslave them.

So they preached against magic. It was safer for magic to be watched, to be controlled, to be locked away from the common folk and kept out of their bloodlines. Solona wasn't sure she could blame them. She didn't know what it was like _not_ to have magic, but she knew what blood magic was like. She knew what demons and dark magic were like. She pitied them their misunderstandings. Her vow to do what she could to change it was what allowed her out of the flames. Standing before Andraste's Ashes, she renewed her vow.

But the first step, of course, was to defeat the archdemon.

She walked away from the altar, allowing the next person to contemplate the Prophet.

* * *

Leliana watched Solona, Wynne, Alistair, and Zevran approach the Urn in turn. They each took several minutes contemplating the statue after taking their pinch of Ashes and placing them in a vial provided by the two mages. She could only begin to guess what passed through their heads as they looked upon Andraste's likeness, but they seemed… serene when they rejoined thier companions by the pedestal.

She stood fidgeting with the fingers of Solona's hand, held in her own. She had long-since replaced her clothing and armor, trying hard not to focus on the fact that her body was bared to her companions. But they had thankfully said nothing, and Solona had very sweetly done her best to shield Leliana's body from sight until her clothing was on. They had shared an embrace, wordlessly promising to discuss everything they'd seen and experienced in this place when they had the time. She needed time to process it all, including what had happened when she walked through the flames.

She had been halted for a moment without time, unable to move of her own accord, right in the middle of the flames. Images of Marjolaine had flashed before her eyes, images of Sister Rose, of Solona, of her time in the Chantry, of her visits with Leandra and Bethany all swirling together. She hadn't known what it all meant until the end, when the images stopped, leaving Leliana looking at herself in her vision. She was standing in a dark abyss, looking up into the light that was holding the darkness at bay. But she looked different somehow. She was… sure of herself. Of her place. And it showed in her posture. She wore some kind of metal armor unlike anything she'd ever worn, with the Eye of the Seeker on the chest plate, her hair braided back out of her face, much like it had been that morning by Solona. She held a sword in one hand and prayer beads in the other.

_'The righteous stand before the Darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand.'_

_I am both a creature of the Chantry and a bard of Orlais_… It had hit her like a brick. What she saw before her, the Leliana that would help hold the Blight at bay, who would help hold the Darkness at bay, would do so using both her tools of faith and the tools of the bardic arts. Both pasts came together to make her present. _I must take these pieces of myself, these ways I have defined myself, and make myself anew. I can no longer deny my past or my skills, no matter how devious or shameful I may find their origin._

As soon as she had made that realization, she had been released, and she was allowed to step out of the heat of the flame. She had looked around in wonder for a moment, and then realized that she was standing there, naked as the day she was born, scars on display for all to see. Just then, Alistair having stepped through, the flames had blinked out, and the Guardian had spoken. Upon his words, she realized that she felt completely refreshed, as though she had awoken from a long sleep and eaten a hearty meal. She had donned her clothing and armor, and now here she stood, fidgeting, pondering a question to which she no longer knew the answer.

Finally, Zevran stepped down, serene eyes showing no hint of his thoughts. His reaching for Wynne's hand, and Wynne taking it, did not go unnoticed, however, and it was with a small smile that she began to ascend the steps leading to the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

* * *

_A/N: First off, I am definitely taking some liberties with canon here. But. I also explain my whole vision for the arcane warrior thing. And tie it in with Andraste. So that's nice, right?_

_Leliana is done being all emo. I think it was needed, but it kinda sucked there for a few days for her, didn't it? She's realized her past is a part of her, and can help her. I also set up a possible future explanation for her joining the Seekers. I didn't buy any DLC for either game, so it's somewhat unexplained. If I do write a sequel, which would be getting way ahead of myself (see below), then I imagine our companions from here doing what they can to spread the truth. The truth would definitely clash with attitudes in places like Kirkwall, don't ya think?_

_I look forward to DAIII. It seems like it'll be a lot more about this struggle with the mages and Templars and Chantry. The revered mother in DAII seemed to me like she knew a lot more about all of this than she let on, but couldn't just go changing things willy-nilly. Change has to happen slowly. And in the meantime Meredith lost her fucking shit. As did Anders. Anyway, given that plotline and mine here, my mind is swirling with ideas. But I need to finish **this** story first. And given my snail's pace updating on this, well... We'll see._

_The question Leliana doesn't know the answer to at the end there will be explained in the next chapter, I promise. ;)_

___So yeah. Thoughts? Handled well? Not well? Yea? Nay?_


	24. Chapter 23 - Back to Redcliffe Again

_A/N: Alright, my lovelies. Here you go. We're finally done with that **fucking** mountain. God, I'm sick of it. I like the quest, but Jesus Christ, that took all damn summer!_

_This is a chapter of mostly fluff, and some relationship development, and hopefully a funny moment or two. Time to lighten things up again, guys. Jeez..._

* * *

Chapter 23

**Back to Redcliffe… Again**

The trek down the mountain was blessedly uneventful.

Emerging back into the entrance, Max had leapt up into Solona's arms with a very puppy-like yip of excitement, showing just how strong the mage had become when she caught him and held him in the air without so much as a hint of exertion. Sten had grunted and abandoned his spot keeping watch at the temple entrance. Morrigan had smirked, and said, "I hope they were all you had hoped, because it certainly took you long enough." At their silence, she had huffed and trekked ahead, leading the lot of them past the dragon's corpse (starting to smell now in the heat from the sulfur pits) and down toward the village at a somewhat breakneck speed.

On the way down, Solona had travelled up ahead with Morrigan, speaking with her about the knowledge they had gained. Wynne could only guess at the witch's reaction to the news – she certainly wasn't excited enough to proclaim it aloud – but they stayed in conversation the entire way down, a half-day's journey unhampered by dragons and cultists, so she supposed the witch was curious, at the very least.

She wasn't sure what to think, herself. It was… astounding, this new information. Andraste had _employed_ mages; arcane warriors formed the _backbone_ of her army; her Exalted March pitted mages against Magisters. She was, in fact, _not_ preaching the evil of magic; quite the opposite: she was preaching the evil of _greed_. Her message was that magic could be, and _should_ be, used for the betterment of all of Thedas. Mages were human, just like all others – they too could fall victim to greed. But if taught from a young age how to wield their powers with grace and wisdom, perhaps they could make a world of wise mages who served their fellows, instead of the good mages being locked away in the Circle and the bad ones in the Imperium – as it was now, and as it had been since Andraste had walked amongst them.

"What do you think of all that we have learned," she had asked Zevran

The elf had taken her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing the back of her knuckles. She flushed as he spoke. "I think you were right when we were before the Spirit," he had said. "I think this message needs to be spread, though I admit I do not see the Chantry as it exists now accepting the message from a group like ours."

She had chuckled at that, taking in their group: several humans, three of whom were mages, rounded out by an elf, a Qunari heathen, and a dog. "That is true. I'm not sure travelling minstrels or performers are quite as diverse as the lot of us."

"But the first step, of course, is to defeat the Blight," he had continued, holding her hand easily as they walked. "We must do the easier things first, it seems."

"Right, defeat the Blight, eat lunch, maybe sit back and watch you wrestle a few trolls. Then we can take on the entirety of the Chantry."

"I like how you think, Wynne," he'd said with a wink, and they had both laughed. As she looked back ahead, she caught Leliana practically staring out of the corner of her eye. Alistair, too. _Well, it was going to come out eventually_…

They now sat around Haven's inn, eating and drinking their fill, sharing the non-personal details of what had happened in the Gauntlet with Brother Genetivi. He was so captivated by the information about Andraste that he neglected to ask about anything else. None of them volunteered the information.

He sat asking Solona everything he could about her powers, her connection to the Fade, what the Guardian had to say about the Prophet and what she had seemed like in their vision. The Warden would be busy for a while.

"So," Leliana said, eyeing Wynne slyly around her tankard. Her voice was low, quiet, and conspiratorial. Wynne knew what was coming, and was both terrified to say anything, and yet desperate to tell _someone_ what had happened, how she was feeling. The bard raised an eyebrow as she continued. "You and Zevran had your own trial? You seem to have come through closer for it."

Wynne sighed. "Very well. I will tell you all about it-" here, Leliana practically squealed in delight while remaining utterly silent, her eyes getting very large "-but you must come with me to a separate room. I hardly wish to go blabbing Zevran's secrets to everyone."

Leliana was on her feet before Wynne was even finished speaking, tugging the older woman to her feet and heading off toward the inn's rooms. She shook her head at Solona's questioning look, a small smile on her face. This woman liked secrets. Wynne supposed she shouldn't be surprised – you had to be observant and actively _want_ secret information if you were a successful bard. And unsuccessful bards were _dead_ bards.

She was happy to see the woman doing so much better. Whatever had happened in the Gauntlet, it had restored Leliana to her usual charm and peppiness, and her bearing seemed lighter than it ever had been while Wynne had known her.

They settled on a bed in the corner of a room, and Wynne got right to sharing what she had witnessed with Zevran. It didn't take long, even though the experience itself had seemed to last for a very long time. When she was through, Leliana was holding her hand, looking with sympathetic eyes into her own.

"That poor man," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. "I cannot believe he has been living with that decision." She looked up at Wynne. "But, Wynne. How did _you_ feel about it? It had to be difficult to see, to hear, and from her mouth, no less."

Wynne sighed, taking her hand from Leliana's and standing. "At the time whatever I might have felt was overridden by the broken man crying into my lap." She took a step forward, began to pace slowly in front of the bard. "Murder and intrigue have been such a huge part of his life, as you have said. But how can I forgive him something like that? He killed her because he thought she betrayed the Crows."

Leliana interrupted her. "No, Wynne, I do not think that is why. I think he simply justified it like that to his partner." Wynne paused her pacing, looking to the young woman questioningly. "I think he killed her because she betrayed _him_. Or, at least he thought she did. By betraying the mission, by going to the target ahead of time, letting the man know they were coming, she would be essentially signing his death warrant. That is the worst of betrayals. I know." She got very quiet at the end.

Wynne resumed her slow pacing, thinking hard about what Leliana had just said. It wasn't his loyalty to the Crows that had moved him to action, it was his heart. His _broken_ heart. She stopped once more, asking Leliana, "Why would he not confront her with this information, see if it was true?"

Leliana gave her a sad smile. "Assassins are skilled liars, Wynne. If she were truly as good as he says then she would not tell him if she were betraying them. It is the world of intrigue. He knew that his emotional investment in the situation would not allow him to be able to tell if she was telling the truth or not."

Wynne frowned, coming to sit once more. "That is the crux of it. How do I know he speaks the truth?"

Here, Leliana smiled much more brightly. "He is telling you the truth, Wynne. You have captured his heart." She looked up to the bard, incredulous and yet also hopeful. "Wynne," she said, letting out a small laugh, "he confessed to you before the Maker. We could not lie in there, we could speak the truth, or nothing at all. The specter of this Rinna _told_ him that the Maker could forgive him, but he needed to forgive himself. I do not think you need to doubt his resolve in this."

Wynne sighed. "I know you're right. I knew his sincerity at the time. But now we are here, and doubts creep at my thoughts." She left unsaid that some of the doubts had to do with the fact that she was incredibly inexperienced at romantic relationships. Her one experience was full of sneaking, with very little room for open displays of affection, or talking openly. She felt… confused, like a young woman in her first courtship might. But that experience, with the Templar and her son, was not one she wished to discuss right now.

Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder. "You should speak with him, Wynne. You cannot have a relationship without communication, and he is not practiced at it. You will have to teach him how to do so." She smiled. "Think of it as something about relationships that _you_ are the more skilled at. You will both have things to bring that you can teach each other, if you are open and honest, and can _let_ the other be the teacher."

Wynne smiled ruefully. "Such wise words from someone so young."

Leliana giggled. "I am learning a lot of this myself. Marjolaine was none of the things Solona is. It is completely different, from any relationship of any kind I have ever had. I was promiscuous in Orlais – a bard's loyalties must be fluid, and Marjolaine would not give me what I wanted from her in terms of exclusivity. I… filled the gap with meaningless excursions. Sometimes I would find another young woman who was taken with me, and who I could see myself with. Marjolaine would quickly convince me against it, and I would inevitably break the poor woman's heart." Leliana hesitated.

"This… this is nothing like that. Solona tells me what she is thinking, doesn't hesitate to give herself to me, and _expects_ that I do the same for her. I think that the expectation is key. It is difficult to have a relationship where you trust each other if you cannot expect honesty, if you are not _sure_ of how the other feels. I am learning still, of course. But I do not think she has any learning to do when it comes to this. I think this is why her betrayals have hurt so much – she gives her whole self, and expects it in return. When it is not given, she is indignant."

Wynne smiled. "That sounds like Solona. And you're right. In her interactions in the Circle, she would have no reason to hold anything back; she is quite sheltered in that regard. Her life of having to keep secrets began with the Wardens. She is not very good at holding back what she is thinking."

Leliana snorted a laugh. "It is true! Her face is an open book!"

Wynne smiled. "Tell me something, Leliana. Have you _told_ her that you love her? Because it is obvious that you do."

Leliana immediately blushed, bringing wonder to Wynne. The young woman could speak of sex with multiple partners with no problems, but she brought up love, and suddenly the bard was a maiden talking about a cute boy! She supposed that made sense, in a way – those emotions were _not_ encouraged in her former lives, either as a bard or as a lay-sister, whereas the promiscuity was merely another one of her tools as a bard.

"I… have not mentioned anything to her. It is just… so _fast_, Wynne. How can I fall in love, with my past as broken as it is, this quickly?"

Wynne smiled. "Sometimes our hearts just know a good connection when we make it. Our hearts then have to wait for our heads to figure everything else out. Look at my own hesitation with Zevran."

Leliana sighed. "I suppose you're right. And this is not like a normal courtship. We have spent every waking moment together for three months – _and_ almost every sleeping moment. Spread that amount of time out over a normal courtship, and it would be easy to see someone falling in love."

"You have an excellent point," the Senior Enchanter conceded. She sat still for a moment, then stood. "Come. We shouldn't keep to ourselves for too long. As it is, I'm sure there will be more than our fair share of prying questions."

Leliana got to her feet, and the two of them went back out to their companions and their ale, enjoying a few comforts before sleep and the trek down to the late summer heat the next morning.

* * *

"So, Wynne and Zevran, huh?"

Alistair was sitting at watch with Leliana and Solona. They normally did the shifts in two, but Alistair couldn't sleep, and they didn't seem to mind his company, so he'd gotten out of his tent and joined them a few minutes before. He had middle-shift anyway, with Morrigan. It's not like he was going to be well-rested the next morning either way.

"_Oui, je sais_! _Quelle bonne surprise! C'est très excitant!_"

Solona snorted. "I love how you slip into Orlesian whenever you get excited."

Leliana raised an eyebrow at her, and Alistair felt his entire face flush with heat after only a moment. Solona laughed at his reaction, clapping him on the shoulder. "It was worth it just for that, Alistair."

"You _used_ me? You little scamp!" Leliana grabbed Solona by the chin, turning her so they were face to face. "You are going to _pay_ for that later."

"You really are scary, Leliana. But can we get back to talking about Zevran and Wynne, and _not_ what you're going to do to Solona later? I don't think I can take an in-depth description right now."

She looked over at him, releasing his fellow Warden with a glint in her eye that made him altogether uncomfortable. Damn them – why did they feel the need to tease? "Oh, _pauvre_ Alistair. It has been many weeks since the Pearl, hasn't it? That is not fair of me, to flaunt our-"

"Yes, yes, please can we move on?"

Solona snorted. "Fine, fine. Tell us about those two, Leliana. I _know_ you cornered her in the inn about it last night."

Alistair sat and listened. He was astounded, honestly. He'd been assuming Zevran's moves were all in jest, just as Solona had. To know the Antivan had an actual _interest_ in her… He reminded himself that she wasn't _that_ old, no matter what she seemed to say about it. She was spry enough, complaining of her joints only that one time, when that storm came in. And he'd seen her naked, much to his dismay, and he had to admit that she really was simply older than the lot of them. "Older" didn't mean "ancient," however, and according to Leliana, Zevran's feelings were genuine.

But, still. He just couldn't quite… picture…

"Alistair, are you alright? You look like something got stuck on its way out."

"I'm fine!" He yelped at Solona, a little too quickly.

Solona grinned. "You were picturing them together, weren't you?"

"No!"

She cackled in delight. "Oh-ho! This will be fun! I can torture you when you least expect it!"

"That's hardly fair to him – or to Wynne and Zevran," Leliana said, yet she also wore a mischievous smile on her face.

"You two are wicked," he said, pointing to one and then the other. "And off-topic. Should we be worried?"

Solona immediately looked confused. "About what?"

"About Wynne! Zevran was an assassin! She was sheltered in the Circle! Aren't we worried about him taking advantage of her?"

They were both dead silent, staring at him, when he finished. Then they looked at each other, grinned, and burst out laughing. "Wynne? Helpless?!"

"She will surely string him up by his ankles should he scorn her," Leliana laughed, giggling like a fool as she was clearly picturing the image.

He felt himself turn bright red once more. "I suppose you're right. And it's not like she doesn't know what she's doing. Did I tell you she tried to tell me where babies come from?" Another round of incredulous laughter. "I told her I knew, thank you very much, but the detail she was about to go into was kind of scary." The two women were practically holding each other up; they were clutching each other while cackling madly. Before he could say anything more, however, Morrigan stomped over.

"Really, if you're going to act like children, could you perch _anywhere_ but near _my_ tent?"

Leliana and Solona took one look at her and then started laughing again. Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Oh, for all the – begone! I will take my watch early! There is no way I will be going back to sleep after your madness."

She literally shooed the other women away, settling next to Alistair with a huff. "Honestly, I do not know how you are able to stand them together."

"Leliana and Solona? They're fun," he said simply, shrugging, wondering when the explosion would happen. They still had yet to make it through a watch together without some sort of argument. They usually ended in Morrigan walking away and keeping her own company on the other side of camp.

"If by 'fun' you mean 'insufferable'. That _bard_ is the most unbearable company I can imagine. And Solona turns into a simpering _fool_ when they are together."

"Why do you dislike Leliana so much, Morrigan?"

"Why do _you_ like her?"

Alistair sighed. "She's nice. She's never been anything but kind to me. And she teaches me things, and she…"

"Doesn't come to you in your tent, that's clear." The girls had started laughing again from their tent, punctuated by a moan here and there. They really _weren't_ trying to be quiet…

He blushed at Morrigan's words. "No, no, she doesn't. She, uh, made it clear early on that my affections were… misplaced."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Your 'affections'?"

_Oh, balls…_ "I had a small crush on her at first. I couldn't help it. I grew up around men, and men who thought very little of me, at that. A pretty girl who's nice to you is sometimes all it takes to develop an unhealthy infatuation."

"I see…" She frowned at him. "And now?"

How was this not turning into a fight? "Now, well… She's my friend. I have nothing but respect for her. Not that I didn't have respect for her before, but…"

She smirked. "And yet if she were to come to your bed, I'm sure you would take the offer. All men are-"

"Hey, now," he said, a little more sternly than he meant to. She bristled. "If she came to my bed, I would wonder what in the Maker's name had happened. Those two care deeply for each other. If one of them were to proposition me, I wouldn't take _advantage_. I would try to help."

She cocked her head, her expression now one of scrutiny. "Perhaps you are unlike the lecherous oafs I came to know in Lothering. You are..."

"I'm nothing. Just me, treating people the best I know how. And I'd kindly appreciate it if you'd stop assuming things about me you don't actually know."

Another scrutinizing look, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. "Tell me, Alistair, what happened to you in the Gauntlet?"

He was slightly taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, nitwit. That place was magical enough, the Veil thin – you communed with spirits, whether or not they want you to believe it is some long-dead Prophet of the absent Maker. What happened to you in that place? You are different from when you went in."

He shifted uncomfortably. He suddenly wished for his armor, to give him something to hide behind. Her harsh words were easier to deal with than her honest questions. "I… had a realization." _I can't believe I'm telling __**Morrigan**__ of all people_.

"What did you realize?"

He sighed. "If Eamon asks me to, I'm going to take the throne."

She sat up, surprised. "My understanding was that you would not go near it."

"Yes, but that was before. The throne comes with power, and-"

"Being a Grey Warden is not enough? You have had a taste of power and now you seek more? I do not blame-"

"Will you let me finish, woman?! I don't want _power_, I want what I can _do_ with it. I want to… _fix_ things. The Circle, the Chantry. The message was wrong. People like you, your mother, Solona – you are hunted by people like those I trained with, and it is because of a false, distorted message from a lost, petrified people." He took a deep breath. "I saw the way of things, and having that power is the _only_ way my voice will be heard."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him. "Why will they not hear the Warden-Commander of Ferelden?"

He snorted. "I'm not the Warden-Commander. Solona is. Surely you knew that?"

"But _why_ is she, Alistair? You are the senior Warden, the one teaching her what you know of the Order. Why are we not following _you_?"

He thought about it for a minute. "I don't know. I've never been in charge of anything before, Morrigan. This is the first… _decision_ that's ever been my own. It… it's my _duty_, and not just because someone _told_ me it _should_ be my duty. Not everyone has this opportunity. I do. I need to take it, no matter how much the idea of being king makes me absolutely _squirm_."

"Given what you just said, you would make a fine leader."

"Well, maybe Solona and I can make joint decisions together. Maker knows being in charge wasn't _her_ first choice, either. I just didn't give her an option."

She considered him for a moment. A long moment. He began to get uncomfortable. Finally, she spoke. "You surprise me, Alistair. I would never have guessed that you would grow up."

_What was that supposed to mean?_ "Er… thank you?" He shifted, looking to change the subject. "So, what did you and Sten do while we were away?"

She smiled a wicked smile, and he knew he wouldn't like what she would have to say. "Sten wanted to know how many of you would come back possessed by demons. _I_ tried to convince him into my bed, but, alas, the giant is single minded in his hatred of magical practitioners, even those in whose warm bed he could idle away some time."

"Y-your _bed_?!"

"Yes. My bed." She grinned an evil grin. "Tell me something, Alistair. Why are you so eager to get back to Redcliffe and the Arl?"

He shook his head, feeling like he'd received a blow to the head, the subject was changed so fast. "I want to cure Eamon, of course."

"But what if these Ashes do not work? What if the magic infused in them only works in the walls of that place? T'would have been better to use them yourself, or did we go there for naught?"

He sighed. "Morrigan, even if you're right, and they're not holy and they don't work, isn't this new information worth it? Isn't it worth it to try to correct the wrong that has been done mages? Isn't it worth it to try to find more arcane warriors like Solona and train them, educate them, enable them to use their powers to better mankind?"

"You mean use them for your own gain."

"No, I don't!" He shouted a little, getting frustrated with her negativity. "Dammit, Morrigan. Maybe someone else who saw all that _would_, but don't you know me well enough to know that I would _not_ subjugate you, use you for my own gain? I want to _help_. Can't you accept that?"

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him for a moment before getting up and resuming her usual position on the other side of the camp. He sighed, settling in for the rest of his watch alone. As usual, it was a long night, full of convincing himself not to look behind him to see what she was doing.

* * *

They made love for the first time since the caves. It was glorious, full of laughs and sighs, kisses and caresses, and sweet, sweet words. Leliana was sure it hadn't yet been like that in the nearly six weeks they'd been lovers. They collapsed in a sweaty heap after, Solona with her head on Leliana's shoulder, their sweaty bodies pressed together.

Solona smiled widely, lazily, nuzzling into Leliana's throat. Her hands began to wander, tracing scar after scar. It was all lazy caresses, not meant to stoke any fires. The attention felt good, and for the first time Leliana did not feel self-conscious about the veritable _devotion_ Solona paid to her scarring. Perhaps she'd made the right decision?

"Leli?"

"Hmmm?"

"Perhaps this isn't the best time, but… you took a pinch of the Ashes, just like the rest of us, right?"

"Yes…"

"Were you thinking of using them? If they can heal the Arl, then I'm sure they can heal your scars."

Leliana hesitated. "I thought about it." Solona pushed herself up to look at her. The mage's normally slate grey eyes had very wide pupils in the near-darkness of their tent, both of which were trained intently on her own eyes. "I have longed for a way to remove the marks on my body for a very long time. It was the key to being able to be close to someone, I thought."

Solona reached up and caressed one of Leliana's cheeks. "But you didn't need that. You opened up to me, to Alistair and Wynne, without that."

Leliana smiled, turning her head to kiss the palm of Solona's hand. "Yes. I do not know what it is about you, but you made opening up so simple. And then we moved beyond that, and the entire time I have felt safe. When it was time to take the Ashes, the old longing returned briefly. But… well, I do not need them. The scars are a part of me, a part of my past, part of what shaped me. They no longer need to remind me of my shame. Then can instead remind me of what I have gone through in order to get here. So I saved the Ashes. I can always change my mind later. Besides," she said, smirking. "They hardly seem to have worked in keeping _you_ away."

Solona grinned, ducking in for a quick kiss. Pulling back once more, she spoke. "They are a part of you. They have always reminded me of what you've gone through, what _strength_ you have. And, truth be told, whenever any of them show their face, I find it incredibly erotic."

"You find my scars _erotic_?"

"Yes. Because it means you're naked, Leli. I like you naked."

Leliana couldn't help it. She laughed out loud at that. "It is amazing you were ever able to charm anyone into your bed. What would be the opposite of a silver tongue?"

Solona shrugged. "You knew I was helpless from the get-go. My cousin had to put someone up to it to bed me for the first time. And while it was fun, it was also all awkward figuring out of things. I had no idea how to woo a woman. And I saw no reason to keep my interest from you. Either you liked me or you didn't, and I would have rather known which sooner than later. Surely you're not telling me you're complaining?"

While she spoke, her hands had begun to wander once more, to all of the places that made the fire beneath Leliana's flesh absolutely _rage_. By the time Solona was through her little speech, Leliana almost didn't care what she was saying. She pulled the mage down into a searing kiss, and proceeded to make passionate love to her once again.

An hour later, they both lay awake, pleasantly, languidly entangled with one another, Solona using her stomach as a pillow. For no reason in particular, it occurred to her, in that moment, that she loved this woman beyond the shadow of a doubt. She opened her mouth to say so, but Solona beat her to it.

"Leliana, I… love you. I know it's a little early to say, and I know it's foolish to think about the future. But if I have one, and if you have one, I want them to be together."

She smiled. "You took the words right out of my mouth, my Warden. I love you," she said, caressing the mage's cheek. "I love you with all my heart."

Solona nuzzled into her belly, hugging tightly to her hips. "I'm so glad. The last thing I want to do is pressure you. But when I saw you in that onslaught in the Gauntlet, I don't know what came over me. I just… wanted to protect you. And before that, after the boy… I couldn't fix it. I couldn't make you better, and it _killed_ me."

She ran her hands through Solona's hair, which was getting much too long – she would need to cut it soon – cradling the mage to her. "_Je t'aime_, my Warden. I am sorry I was so withdrawn for so long. I… had an epiphany, in the flames. I…" She didn't dare speak about her vision of herself as a Seeker of Truth. Should that future come to pass, it would be after the Blight was dealt with, and they could figure out how they would stay together then. "I am a bard of Orlais, _and_ a woman of the Chantry, of the Maker. I can be both. There is room. And as Sister Rose – or whatever that spirit was – said, sometimes death is necessary, even if it is not strictly deserved. I am good at killing, but I am also good at making the right judgment. I just needed to realize it, get past my guilt for my past. I no longer kill needlessly. But Andraste's Flaming Sword is not only used to look pretty."

"Every rose has a thorn, so to speak?"

She smiled again. "Many thorns." She ran her nails over Solona's scalp, causing her to make a noise not unlike a purr. "My Warden, the poet. You could be a bard yourself, my love." The words felt good coming out of her mouth, rolling off her tongue. It made her smile wider.

"Oh, Leliana." Suddenly, the mage was kissing her, their breasts pressed together, their arms wrapped around each other. The mage pulled back after a moment, breathless, staring into her eyes. "Change this with me," she said, caressing Leliana's cheek with one hand while holding her close with the other. "When this is all over, help me change the Circle, the Chantry? I have to do something to change it. I have to build up the Wardens, but I also have to change the Circle, spread Andraste's true message, do what I can to find others like me. Do it with me? Fight for a Chantry that is in line with what Andraste set forth to make?"

_Perhaps that is what my vision meant? It is impossible to say, but I cannot leave you, Solona. You are my love, and I do not think I could stand being apart from you_. "Yes, Solona. Yes. Just… let us not forget the fight we are currently in, yes? We must defeat the Blight."

"Agreed. But after. After, you will stay with me?"

"As you said in the beginning, Solona: you have captured my heart. I could not stay away from you if I tried."

* * *

It took ten days for them to reach Redcliffe. Alistair set a punishing pace, but Solona let him. She knew he was nervous that they'd been gone so long, eager to get the Arl healthy again. He and Morrigan remained oddly silent, the mage leaving him to his thoughts in a completely uncharacteristic manner. Given what she could see developing between them – even if they both denied it even to themselves – it only served to entertain her.

The night before they would reach Redcliffe (they could _just_ see the red cliffs in the distance), Solona sat at watch with Zevran. She and Leliana had spoken about her vision in the Gauntlet at length, each of them sharing their realizations that allowed them through the cleansing Flames that so obviously represented the fires that killed – or would have killed, had Hessarian not had such a dramatic change of heart – Andraste.

They had also discussed Leliana's conversation with Wynne, at much more length than they had with Alistair. Solona was surprised, to say the least. She hadn't seen Zevran's jests as anything but just that: jesting. She had no idea he had been serious. Ever since, she had been watching the two of them like a hawk. She had consequently not missed when they would disappear together in the woods, ostensibly to refill water skins or to "go for a walk." She remembered going for a walk: very little walking actually happened on hers and Leliana's walks. The thought should have revolted her – Zevran and Wynne kissing, rubbing up against the trees! – but instead it made her smile a little. Perhaps Wynne really was changing her mind from that conversation they'd had in Redcliffe. The woman could use some tenderness. As could Zevran, no doubt.

She sat now looking away from the fire, which was largely unnecessary given the oppressive heat of the day, but which still provided them light, a place to cook, and kept the animals away. Zevran was standing a few feet away, looking up at the stars. She was startled when he spoke.

"I assume it would be naïve to think you and Leliana have not spoken of her and Wynne's conversation."

"Um… yes, we have. Alistair, too."

He nodded. "I thought as much."

"Oh?"

"You are terrible at keeping what you are thinking from your face, Warden. A child could read your expression most of the time." He looked over to her. "You have been staring at the both of us like a teenage boy during his first time at a whorehouse."

Her cheeks heated even as she chuckled at his analogy. She felt a little like a child who had been caught having stolen a plate of cookies, given away by the crumbs all over her robes. It had happened to her as a child. She had never been good at deceit.

"I apologize-"

He held up his hand. "It is fine, Warden. I imagine we will not hide it much longer. It is difficult to hide such a thing when you spend every waking moment with a group of people. But I would appreciate your discretion for the time-being, until it is clear we are open about it."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Since you _are_ aware, I was wondering if you would be willing to talk?"

She knit her eyebrows, confused. "About what?"

He shrugged. "I have never been in a relationship. Never stayed with someone for more than a night. I could use another man to talk to, but as my only options are virginal Alistair and the ever-implacable Sten, I thought of either you or Leliana. As you are sitting here with me now, and as you are more like a man than Leliana is, I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind discussing things with me."

She snorted. "More manly than Leliana isn't saying much." Visions of the bard's breasts and sex came floating in her mind, as well as her distinctly girlish manners.

He grinned. "Indeed. My options are altogether poor, it is true."

Solona rolled her eyes, chuckling despite herself. "Very well. Ask away. What can I help you with, Zevran?"

He looked back up to the stars. "It is quite simple, if not easy: how do I keep her?"

"Come again?"

He shrugged. "I know how to charm a woman into my bed. I do not wish to do that to Wynne. She is… I wish to cherish her. I _do_ cherish her. I do not wish to drive her away with flimsy seductions. But if I strip that away…" He shrugged once more.

"Then you are left with nothing. You are in unfamiliar waters."

He nodded. "I do not know how to charm her into my heart. That is something that _she_ has done."

"Is it really that hard to simply tell her how you feel, Zev?"

He cocked his head to the side at her, but otherwise let the familiar name go. "You say that as if I have ever done so before in my life, Warden." He smirked. "I am a Crow, or I was. I was raised to be the best at keeping things to myself, at observing others to find their weaknesses. This works as well in seductions as it does in assassinations. But I have a feeling it does not work so well in romance. Not with Wynne."

Solona thought for a moment. "How have you handled yourself so far?"

He smirked again. "By not seducing her."

"Wait, are you telling me you two haven't…?"

"We have not known each other, no. We mostly talk, to be honest."

"What do you talk about?"

He came to sit down on the grass next to her. "She tells me about her years in the Circle. She tells me of her regrets. She told me about her first love, and lover, a Templar with whom she had a son – both of them taken from her upon his birth."

Solona sat up straight. "That happened to Wynne?! It happens sometimes in the Circle. I had no idea she was one of them, once upon a time…"

He nodded. "Indeed. She has tried to decrease the frequency of it happening to others. I don't need to tell you what she said about all mages' children belonging to the Chantry." She shook her head, still in awe at his statement. "In any event, she speaks to me of her life, of her friends, of her time as an orphan child, of her love of teaching."

"What do you tell her in return?"

He hesitated. "I do not know _what_ to tell her. Mostly I listen. My life is so… _very_ different from what she speaks to me about."

"Well," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Perhaps you should start talking Zev. I don't think it matters what you say at this point – you just need to get in the habit of being able to share yourself with her, without hesitation."

"You really think that's it? Just start talking?"

"Yes, I do. Talk to her, without the pressure of trying to get her into bed. That part will happen on its own. You're an attractive man, Zevran, and clearly not without your talents in the bedchamber. If I had to bet, I'd say that, at some point, she'll come to you. When she's comfortable. And that can only happen when she feels she knows you well enough. When she feels she knows your heart."

He scrutinized her. "I will think on this. Thank you Warden." He looked away, getting to his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will make a round of the perimeter. You have given me a lot to think about." He looked back to her. "Thank you."

* * *

"Grey Wardens approach!"

"Well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not they'll recognize us," Alistair mumbled. Solona just snorted in response.

Zevran looked back up to the ramparts. He hadn't actually spent much time in the castle last time. He had been too injured to come up with them the first time around, Wynne far too exhausted to do much more than make sure he didn't bleed out. When she had awoken, she had taken care of him, but he had still spent that day at Redcliffe Castle sleeping and healing, fevered dreams of Wynne in his bed waking him every hour or so. He wasn't sure how he felt about being here now. It felt a little like things had come full circle – this is where the beginnings of his infatuation for Wynne had occurred, and now he would walk through the gates to the castle hand-in-hand with her.

Or they would if it weren't so damned hot. Coming down the mountain, they had tried to savor the actual _need_ to wear extra clothing, the chill from the snow atop the mountain requiring cloaks of everyone. They had put them away once they reached the base of the mountain, though, the heat making them unnecessary. It had only gotten hotter since then. Hotter, and much more humid, which was incredibly uncomfortable in his leathers. He longed to remove them and spend a few days in a place where armor was not required at all times.

"How you stand this country is beyond me, especially in those long robes of yours" he said to Wynne as they approached the castle, taking his hair and finally relenting and tying it back all the way.

"Is Antiva so different?" The mage watched him from out the corner of her eye.

He thought for a moment about what Solona had said the night before. It occurred to him that this would be the perfect opportunity to start talking about himself without delving into some of the more morally ambiguous things he had done.

"You wish to know about Antiva? The best way to know it, of course, is to go there. But, alas, because of the Crows I will never go back again." He sighed dramatically, winking at her and eliciting a chuckle before he continued. "It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like it so often is here – not _now_, of course… It rains often, and the flowers are always in bloom – or, so the saying goes."

"Is it not true?"

"In some parts, yes. But I prefer the places where it is warm and _dry_. This humidity does not suit me. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. There is wine, and minstrels, and beautiful men and women. But… you may think this odd, but I miss the leather the most."

"That _is_ odd."

He laughed. "Indeed. But I mean the smell. As you know I lived in a tiny apartment shared with four other men. But I didn't tell you it was near the leather-making district. I grew accustomed to the stench, despite the humans' constant complaints. To this day, the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home, more than _anything_ else."

"You speak as though you have been away for a very long time, Zevran. But it has only been a few months, hasn't it?"

"It is true, it has not been that long. But this was my first assignment outside of Antiva, and now I find I will not be able to return. I think of it whenever I am not busy." He paused, feeling Wynne's hand on his shoulder while he thought back to the day before he would leave. He had been very sad, broken up about what he'd done to Rinna still. He had awoken to the last in a long string of naked bodies that he had tried to use to distance himself from the incident, but to no avail. He had been thinking that perhaps he should at least take one piece of home with him when he went to his death. How fitting to wear some Antivan leather whilst he was slaughtered by the Grey Wardens?

"Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship… Ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought I could perhaps purchase them for myself as a reward for a job well done. More the fool I, no?" They both knew this was a lie. Zevran had not been planning to return from this job. But the others did not, and they were all listening.

"Do they sell Antivan leather in Ferelden?"

He looked over at Wynne. She had removed her hand from his shoulder while he spoke, but remained close as he led the donkey and cart. "I would imagine so. I have yet to see any, but it is not as though we have stayed anywhere civilized for more than a night. But who knows where we will end up? I certainly did not expect to be vanquished – and then recruited! – by a beautiful Grey Warden." He waited a beat. "And Solona."

Alistair spluttered for a moment. "Wait- Hey!"

A round of laughter followed, and they made their way into Redcliffe Castle in a cheery mood. Right before entering the gate, however, Wynne stopped him.

"Thank you for sharing with me, Zevran."

"But you are most welcome, Wynne."

"I just want you to know," she continued, looking into his eyes, which were on a level with her own, "that I understand you are not used to keeping anyone's counsel but your own. I appreciate how difficult it is for you to… share yourself with me. Please keep doing it. If this is to work, I need to know about you. The good _and_ the bad."

On impulse, he reached out a hand and caressed her cheek. Drawing her in, he kissed her tenderly, feeling weak in the knees at the soft feel of her lips, the warm taste of her tongue. When he pulled back, he felt breathless, even though it had not been a long kiss. "I will keep trying, my dear Wynne. I am not accustomed to it, as you say. But for _you_, there is a lot I can do differently."

She smiled, taking his hand and lowering it, but keeping ahold of it. They made their way through the gate, hand-in-hand, ridiculous smiles on their faces.

* * *

Sten watched from near the doorway as the healer, Wynne, practiced her arts over the poisoned leader of this place. He was finally getting the concept that these people used names, and not titles, to identify themselves. It was an utterly foreign concept – he was Sten, as were all other Sten. The title and the name were the same. But these people, they all had _individual_ names to which they answered. He could see that, in the chaotic society in which they lived, it actually made things somewhat less chaotic. But it was still a concept with which he struggled.

The man Wynne was chanting over looked pale, thin, and nothing like a leader to Sten. But he was familiar with what disease did to a person. A kossith who had been sick for that long would have been killed long ago, another found to replace him in his role. But these people's ways were very different from his own, and he was sworn to follow the Warden. He was wise enough to know that his job while here was to watch, and to listen, and to learn. Everything was a learning opportunity.

The _serabaas_ reached into her belt pouch, pulled out a vial, and poured the contents into a cup with water. He approved – if these magical ashes should work, this would be the best way to spread it quickly throughout the man's body. If not, it would certainly not hurt him to drink some water.

She tipped the contents of the cup into his mouth, and he drank. All of it.

At first, nothing happened. The brother from the Chantry next to her began to get angry, looking as though he may lay a hand on the _serabaas_. "You have poisoned him further-"

He stopped when Sten took a step toward him, unfolding his arms and humming low in his throat. The man stepped back from the mage with a yelp, looking around immediately for support.

"The _serabaas_ is not a fool, priest. She is careful, and knowledgeable, and has saved all of us from perishing many times. You _will_ keep your hands away from her."

She looked up at him critically. He wasn't the best at reading human facial expressions – they were very different from a kossith – but he could tell she was surprised, and perhaps a little confused. "Thank you, Sten," she said, turning back to the Arl.

She focused, chanting again, and he watched from over her shoulder, not trusting the Chantry brother to not call for guards. She stood still, her hands held in place over the man's chest, for several long moments before she moved. As she lifted her head and breathed in to speak, the man moved, his eyes beginning the rapid movement associated with dreaming.

"He is regaining consciousness slowly, as if from a very deep sleep. He should awaken in a few moments."

Sure enough, his eyes blinked open. His mate, the auburn-haired woman who spoke like Leliana, gasped, making a great deal of noise. He hummed low in his throat again, finding the pitch of her speech grating to his sensitive ears. He backed away, deciding that he could now watch safely from a distance. Folding his arms, he stood vigil once more. He repaid his debts, and he had racked up quite a few with the _serabaas_ he travelled and fought with. He would make sure she came through the fool Chantry brother's attentions unscathed. He would not fail his kith as he had his last.


	25. Chapter 24 - Antici

_A/N: This is my last update for a little bit. In the next ten days, I have to drive from LA to SF (basically), then up into the mountains, then back to LA. But THAT'S NOT ALL. OH NO. I also have to move from LA back to NYC. So. I'm not promising that writing is going to happen. It might. My parents have a trailer, and they'll let me charge my laptop (it's "camping," not camping). But there is no cell reception or internet, and the whole point of going is to enjoy nature. So we'll see._

_SMUT WARNING. This beginning of this chapter is a smutty good time. The rest of it is clean. I think... It's also a super-long chapter._

_Also, a game: The first person to guess correctly (in a PM to me) what the next chapter title will be gets to request any smut scene between Solona and Leliana they want, and I will write it. I get final say, of course. But yeah. So. Let's see if anyone even PMs me..._

* * *

Chapter 24

**Antici…**

Solona groaned in pain, causing Leliana to roll her eyes.

"If you hurt so much, you can always get healing."

"You _know_ it doesn't work like that, Leli. Even when I heal myself, I'm still stuck with bruising."

It was true. She'd seen it. After a fight, Solona would come to bed sometimes covered in bruising, whereas Leliana's pale skin was rarely marred by anything – the joy of being an archer, small, and fast.

"Fine, fine. Lie down, I will rub your back."

"Oh, bless you, you are the most beautiful-" she kissed the bard "-amazing-" another kiss "-wonderful woman-"

"Enough," Leliana giggled, batting her away. "Take off your shirt and lie on the bed. If I'm going to let your horse toss you, then the least I can do is try to relieve some of your aches and pains."

Eamon was returning to health rapidly with Wynne's attention. Since their return several days before, it felt like Solona couldn't get a moment alone with the bard, however. The Arl had declared her and Alistair Champions of Redcliffe, and sent invitations for a fete in their honor. Solona hadn't been happy about the delay, but Leliana had explained why it was necessary.

"The Arl must show that Loghain _failed_," she had explained. "Eamon must show that he is healthy, must show that Loghain failed in his assassination attempt, and spread word of his treachery and _your_ good deeds. It loans credence to the story that it was Loghain, and not _you_, who was the traitor at Ostagar. The groundwork for the Landsmeet begins here, Solona."

She had then explained that Eamon's gift to them – horses for everyone – would allow them to make up the time. It would be a worthy investment of time, in the end.

There was only one problem with this plan.

"I don't know how to ride," Solona had confessed before looking over to Wynne. "Do you?"

"No," Wynne had answered, shaking her head.

"How do you not know how to ride a horse?" Alistair had been incredulous.

"We didn't exactly get a lot of chances out on an island in the middle of a damned _lake_," she'd replied heatedly.

Leliana, Alistair, and Zevran had spent the last three days teaching the two Circle mages how to ride a horse. Alistair and Leliana were of the opinion that the only way to tame Solona's stallion – a kingly gift, no doubt, but willful, to say the least – was to let them have it out. It had resulted in Solona being thrown more times than Leliana could now count.

She had complained that Wynne did not have to learn this way. Leliana had replied that Wynne had been gifted a calm, sturdy mare, who had accepted her as a rider with no problem. Solona had simply glared over at Zevran sitting behind Wynne on the mare, making sure her grip with her hands and feet were correct. _And_ getting as physically close as he could at every opportunity.

So truly the least she could do was help Solona relax enough to sleep well.

The mage's shirt came up and off, and Leliana was once again momentarily stunned into inactivity. The sight before her was just so marvelous: the chiseled muscles across her shoulders and down her back, incredibly toned arms accompanied by small but perky breasts. Solona's body, even when she hadn't been all muscle, had always been rather straight all the way down, without a lot of the curves that often marked a woman feminine and attractive. But her tall, proud bearing, coupled with the _hint_ of feminine curvature – even with all that hard muscle – made for a woman Leliana found more attractive than any she had ever been with.

Solona smirked at her, deliberately stretching out as she lay on her stomach on the bed. The bed was large, as was the room – the opposite of what Leliana was granted. They had each been given a room, and when she was led to hers, she found her things had already been delivered. It had been easy enough to simply pick them up – she didn't own a lot of things – and tote them over to Solona's room, which was quite large, as befitted a Champion of Redcliffe, apparently. She didn't mind, but she did rather enjoy scandalizing the servants that first morning when they came in to draw a bath and found the two of them lying naked together. Served them right for not knocking.

"Are you going to stare all day, or what?"

She shook herself free of her reflection, glaring at her lover with an amused smile on her face. She sauntered over, enjoying the way Solona's eyes immediately snapped to her swaying hips. "That's better," she said, smiling down into Solona's face. "Now, stay here, I'll be right back."

She retrieved the bathing and massage oil she had requested the first day, which now lived in the small, attached bathing chamber. Returning to the bed, she immediately straddled Solona's thighs, pouring oil into her hands and rubbing them together before beginning to rub the stiffness from her lover's muscles.

The feeling of the oil between the two of them was wonderful, and she got lost a little in tracing the contours of Solona's muscles. She was indeed full of knots, and seemed to be genuinely appreciating having them rubbed out. It was, however, incredibly distracting to have the woman moaning her appreciation, out loud and abundantly.

It _did_ give her an idea, though.

"Take off your trousers."

"Wh- what?"

"You heard me," Leliana answered, moving so Solona could comply. Fully naked, she resumed her position, Leliana once again straddling her legs, though lower this time. Pouring more oil, she began to knead Solona's lower back. She moved down to her buttocks, smirking at Solona's moans of pleasure.

Here was the tricky part, though. "Don't move, and don't speak," she instructed. They had yet to play any games like this, but Leliana had long ago accepted that her sexual tastes were… varied, to say the least. As much as she loved making love to Solona, she missed bedroom _play_. And she had only ever gotten to be in the dominant role with her meaningless flings. It was high time to introduce it, and she wanted to direct it. Marjolaine had never allowed it. Solona would. They trusted each other enough for that.

"What do you mean-"

"Shh, Solona. I said no talking."

She began kneading the backs of her thighs, but altered her pressure somewhat. She teased here, tickled there, but only momentarily. It was having the effect she was hoping for, however: Solona was becoming visibly aroused, her fingers twisting into the sheets, little whimpers escaping her throat as she jumped with each of Leliana's touches.

After a time, it became clear that Solona was losing her self-control. She was behaving herself, however, not saying a word, not asking for anything, and so Leliana felt it was time to reward her for her good behavior. She shifted one hand under Solona's hip, a gentle pressure getting Solona's hips angled exactly how she wanted them. She let out a soft "ah" when Solona's sex was revealed, practically dripping with arousal. Making sure her hands were coated in the oil – which she knew from experience was safe to use in this manner – she coaxed a finger inside of her lover.

"Maker, Leliana!"

"Shh, love. No talking, remember?"

"I- Oh, Leli…"

Leliana grinned. She added a second finger rather rapidly, keeping her hand under the mage's hip to keep her backside angled correctly. The mage had the sheets bunched in her fists and her feet squirming underneath the bard. She bit back several cries, finally burying her face in the sheets to muffle herself.

"That's right, love. When you behave, you are rewarded." Leliana was rewarded for her words by a particularly violent buck up into her hand, causing her to go much deeper than she had been. Solona cried out in answer, and Leliana began to work her in earnest. A third finger was added, and she leaned over further, trailing her free hand into that dark thatch of hair, seeking out that beautiful button of ecstasy she knew she would find right…

"Maker!"

There. It took less than a minute for Solona to climax, incoherent cries escaping her lips. Leliana's hand was coated in her lover's fluid, and she felt her own core pulse with need.

But she wasn't done. Oh no, not yet. She continued to work Solona long past when she would normally have stilled. As Solona began panting and groaning and moaning once more, incredulous cries escaping her, Leliana coaxed a fourth finger inside of her lover. Normally there just wasn't enough lubrication to try something like this, but with her hand coated in oil as it was, along with Solona's fluids from her release, well. Now was the time to try.

"I… Leli… I…"

"Did you have something to say, Solona?"

"Fuck…"

She chuckled, redoubling her efforts, working the mage like she did her lute. She pumped her fingers in and out, her other hand teasing that bundle of nerves. The sight of the mage writhing underneath her, her own fingers disappearing inside of her, the mage's fists clenched as tightly in the sheets as her core was around Leliana's fingers, made Leliana almost cry out with her own need. And being in control of this, having the powerful mage under her – an arcane warrior, descended from the backbone of Andraste's Army – surrendering her control… it thrilled her all the way down to her core.

Finally, she relented, stroking Solona fervently. All it took was a few strokes for the mage to crest once more, her whole body going rigid as she called out Leliana's name. Her body coated the insides of her own thighs as she watched, feeling her lover climax around her hand.

It took a few minutes for Solona's breathing to return to normal. While she was still recovering, utterly boneless and unable to move, Leliana pulled out of her and quickly removed her own clothing. Climbing into bed next to the mage, she pushed against her. Solona immediately curled into her, giving her a sloppy kiss, murmuring something about taking the oil with them, and burying her face in the bard's skin. She was always like this as she came down from climax, needing to have as much of their skin touching as possible – especially her face.

Her breathing calmed, and Leliana began to get excited, her heart pounding with the anticipation. She was so aroused that she probably only needed a minute of attention before she would experience her own crest. But then she realized that Solona's breathing was a little _too_ regular.

"Solona?"

No answer.

A gentle shake. "Solona?"

A sleepy mumble as the mage pulled her closer.

She was asleep. _Asleep_!

"_Merde_."

She settled in, squeezing her thighs together, wishing she had her lover between them. Accepting that she would just have to have reciprocation tomorrow, she got as comfortable as she could and tried not to focus on the feel of Solona's skin against hers, which was distracting, so that she could fall asleep.

* * *

She awoke to deft fingers sliding over her skin.

"Solona!"

She opened her eyes to find the mage grinning above her, her hands now sliding over her more insistently.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"What- oh! What are you doing?"

"Well," she answered, tweaking one of Leliana's nipples again. "You were so giving last night, and I completely fell asleep on you. I thought perhaps I could return the favor." Upon finishing, she took Leliana's nipple into her mouth, sucking firmly.

Leliana groaned, arching her back to push her breast further into Solona's mouth, her hands tangling in her freshly cut hair and pulling down. Her body felt afire, her skin burning wherever Solona touched it. Clearly, her arousal had not dimmed with sleep.

Solona released her breast with a slight _pop_, kissing her way down her chest and stomach. Leliana tried to calm her breathing, but her body was overriding her, and she couldn't help but pant and whimper, squirming underneath her lover. Solona reached the apex between her legs, chuckling deep in her throat as she lowered her head.

A knock on the door interrupted her, Alistair's voice sounding through the door. "Solona, I need to speak with you."

Leliana cursed. "Maker's breath, you _have_ to be kidding me?!"

Solona looked over at the door with her eyes narrowed. "Can't it wait, like, five minutes?"

Leliana snorted. "If that," she breathed.

"Mmmm, I like the sound of that," Solona murmured, going to lower her head once more.

"I'm sorry, but it really can't," Alistair replied loudly through the door. "Arl Eamon wants to speak with us. You should put on something nice." A pause. "I tried to get him to wait, but I couldn't."

Leliana's head hit the pillow. "Do you think he will mind if I gut him with one of my daggers?"

Solona laughed. "I think he might." She pulled herself up, kissing Leliana between the breasts, then moving up further to kiss her on the lips. "I promise I'll make it up to you after whatever this meeting is."

Leliana sighed resignedly. "I shall just have to wait. Go on, put on your blue shirt and your leather breeches from last night – those are probably the nicest things you have clean."

Solona kissed her once more before getting up off the bed, calling out, "I'll be there in five minutes, Alistair." She headed over to her travel bag. "Is my vest clean enough, do you think?"

Leliana turned to her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "I think so, yes."

Solona looked up from her bag, stopping dead for a moment. "I can't believe I'm leaving you here like _this_. You're just _exquisite_ like that."

Leliana smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing to her lover. She lay on her side, one hip jutting into the air, completely naked, the sunlight through the window just starting to reach her pale skin. "Neither can I," she replied, raising an eyebrow and stroking her hand over her hip. "I may just need to take care of myself while you're away…" Her hand crept down toward the red thatch of hair over her sex.

Solona was on her in an instant. "Please, please don't!" She kissed her roughly, wrapping her arms tightly around Leliana's waist. "I promise I'll make it worth the wait. As soon as we're through."

Leliana giggled. "Yes, yes! Alright! Go, before you are late!"

She was released, and she watched as Solona pulled on her trousers, shirt, boots, and, lastly, the vest she hadn't worn since the Tower. Leliana felt a little shiver go down her spine at the sight, and she fervently wished she could take the mage and drag her back to bed. Instead, she got up, kissing Solona tenderly before sending her out the door to meet with Alistair and the Arl. Sighing once again, she turned to wash up in the basin before going to break her fast.

"I sincerely hope she meant it when she said she'd finish what she started…"

* * *

It was lunchtime before she saw Solona again. They met in the great dining hall, she and Alistair both falling to their meals with gusto. A servant led in Leliana after a morning of wandering the castle. She'd spent some time sitting with Connor, watching Wynne train him in his arts. They weren't yet sure what they would do with him; he needed a teacher, but the Circle was so harsh, and with the new information they'd stumbled upon, both Solona and Wynne were hesitant to advise sending him there. But it _was_ the likeliest place for him to be safe if Wynne or Solona couldn't teach him. His parents had decided to let Wynne teach and observe him while the group stayed at the castle, and abide by whatever advice she gave at the end.

"_Bonjour_," she greeted, sliding onto the bench next to her lover. She slid one hand up her arm and neck, burying her fingers in the mage's hair, hoping to remind her of her promised afternoon activity. She got only a grunted acknowledgment in return. She removed her hand, eyebrows knit, trying not to feel hurt or rejected. This wasn't like Solona at all. "Is- is something wrong?"

Alistair answered for her. "We had the longest meeting in the world with the Arl. We figured out what to do with the Landsmeet, how long it might take to secure the help of the elves and the dwarves, and we talked about each Bann and Arl in Ferelden at some length."

"That does sound dreadfully boring," she conceded, looking over to the black storm cloud that was her lover. "It must have dragged on for hours."

"That's not the part that has her like that," Alistair countered. "No, at the end of all of it, we had to decide what to do with Jowan."

Leliana's heart sank. They hadn't discussed him much. Solona was angry, but at the same time, she understood his turning to blood magic to avoid losing his love, to avoid the mindless existence of the Tranquil. She didn't know what should be done with him. Blood mages should be put to death, and yet most of them turned to blood magic out of desperation. Was there no room for rehabilitation in the world of magic?

"Did you make a decision?"

Solona swallowed her food, turning her head to stare down at her plate. "He's to be put to death," she said in a low voice.

"Oh, Solona." Leliana reached for her, but she shrugged away.

"I just… I need to be alone for a while. Maybe I'll go talk to him. I'd rather he found out from me than a guard or something." She got up, kissing Leliana's cheek before leaving the hall. The kiss helped, made it clear that she was not unhappy with the bard at all. Still, she couldn't help but be slightly disappointed.

"Well, now I know what it would take to make her leave a meal," Leliana muttered, looking down at the mage's mostly-full plate.

"I'll eat it for her," Alistair said with a wink, despite his concerned eyes, grabbing the plate and moving it next to his own.

Leliana sighed, putting her chin in her hands and her elbows on the table. "This is not how I pictured this afternoon going…"

Alistair cleared his throat. "Sorry for stealing her away like that. Eamon was going to send someone to fetch her. He's not used to being made to wait for anything, and I felt like perhaps now is not the time to assert that she is not under his command."

"I understand, Alistair," she assured him, finally beginning to pick at her own plate.

"I… was actually hoping to speak with you about it," he said, taking another bite of his meal.

"About what, Alistair?"

"Well," he started, looking away while he gathered his thoughts. "I suppose I should start with the Gauntlet. The only person I've talk to about this to has been Morrigan, of all people. But… well, to get out of the flames, did you have to pass some kind of test or something?"

Leliana thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you could call it a test. I was… shown my vision, in a different form. I had a realization. Then I was allowed through."

"I had a realization, too." He shifted in his seat, adjusting his shirt. "I heard a voice, sort of, telling me that I was worthy, and then I was allowed through."

"What did you realize, if you don't mind me asking?"

He smiled a strained smile. "That in order to change things – the Circle, the Chantry – I had to take the throne if that's what Eamon wanted. And it is." He sighed. "It's just… it's the only way I can _do_ anything. I've never been able to do anything, Leliana."

She smiled. "I understand. And I'm proud of you, Alistair. But… what did you need to speak about?"

"Well, Eamon is glad I'm open to the idea. Solona is… I don't think she knows what to think, which is about where I am, too. It's hard to picture me as king when I'm a wanted fugitive." He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "But Eamon… I don't think he realizes that he's not in charge of all of this."

She cocked her head to the side. "How do you mean?"

Alistair sighed. "He's ordering us around like we're his soldiers or something. I don't know. Solona will be the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. We talked about it yesterday, deciding that we would make Warden decisions together, but that if we had to present a command structure, she would be at the top."

Leliana nodded. "Solona told me as much."

He smiled. "Good. As the Warden-Commander, or even just a Warden, she is not under the jurisdiction of any ruler, though cooperating is definitely stressed. But the problem is, Eamon is having a… a hard time grasping it, I think. Every time she says something decisive, he looks to me for confirmation. Every time he decides something, he looks to me for agreement, and then completely ignores the nod or shake of the head she gives him. He bowls her over as soon as she starts to speak, and just generally…"

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "Treats her like a woman?"

"Yes!" He sagged. "Solona is incredibly frustrated, though I don't think she realizes that it's because she is a woman that he overlooks her – I think she thinks it's because she's young, and a mage. It embarrasses me, but I don't know how to talk to him about it."

She grew thoughtful. "If you are to be king, Alistair, you will need to learn to speak with your advisors, who will undoubtedly be senior to you in age, to correct them and their behavior. Luckily, you do not have the same ideas about women in power as _he_ does, and you have come to me. _I_ know exactly how to get him to see the error of his ways."

"Oh?"

She smiled. "Indeed."

Two hours later, they were seated in Isolde's sunroom. An elven servant poured tea for them, offering biscuits before silently exiting the room. Leliana followed the woman with her eyes, wondering at how she never quite noticed how much like statues the elven servants were treated as compared with the human ones.

"The elves, they make excellent servants, _non_?"

Leliana's head whipped around to look at Lady Isolde. She was very beautiful, simply radiant now with both her husband and son alive and well. She smiled, not really sure what to say in response to that.

"The elf you have traveling with you… he makes a good servant for the Wardens?"

Alistair choked on his tea. "Zevran? A servant?"

"I'm sorry, is he not?"

"No, My Lady," Leliana replied, placing a hand on Alistair's knee so he wouldn't say anything else. "Zevran helps us fight against the Darkspawn. He is not a servant."

"Oh… that would explain why Wynne was so indignant when I asked him to clear the dishes from the lunch she shared with Connor…"

Leliana blinked. "Oh? How did _he_ react?"

"He cleared the table! It is very confusing…"

Leliana chuckled. "I am sure he simply did what was easiest. It is his way. Besides that, I'm sure it provided ample opportunity to speak with some of the servants."

She knit her brows. "Why would he wish to do that, if he is not one himself?"

"Information, most likely. In his former occupation, information was the most valuable form of currency."

"You seem to know a great deal about this, Lady Leliana."

She simply smiled. "My Lady, I know you know I was a bard in Orlais. I know what it is like to have information be the most valuable thing you can have."

Alistair flinched. "You- you just told her, just like that?"

"Shhh, Alistair, it is alright," she said, placing her hand upon his shoulder to calm him. "I am at peace with it."

"It is alright, Alistair," Isolde said, turning a glare upon him. It had been apparent since their return that, even after saving Connor, Teagan, and Eamon, she still was not pleased with his presence. "I know enough of Orlesian politics to know that the bards are often used cruelly. If he was anything like that, then I can understand his willingness to simply… go with the flow, I believe Fereldens say. And you as well, Leliana."

Leliana squeezed Alistair's shoulder to keep him from replying. "Surely such a shrewd woman would wish to help us with a little problem, then?"

"_Une problemme?_ What is wrong?"

"The Arl seems to have some somewhat… unenlightened views about how to treat Alistair's fellow Warden," she explained, again squeezing the man's shoulder to keep him quiet.

Isolde picked up on it instantly, her eyes narrowing. "I see. He has had problems with this in the past. He has learned not to push _me_ around. Perhaps he needs reminding about _other_ women…"

"It would be wonderful if we could find a way for him to see that it is Solona who is the one in charge of the Wardens."

She eyes widened a little. "It is not Alistair? I thought he was senior?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, Lady Isolde. Solona and I confer and come to agreements, but ultimately it is _she_ who leads us. When we are able to rebuild our Order, it will be _her_ who is called Warden-Commander."

Isolde's eyes softened a little as he spoke. "You… are a good man, Alistair. I have let my own jealousy cloud my eyes, I think. You will make a good king, to realize that the women in your country can do just as much, if not more, than the men."

Leliana smiled. She had been hoping to clear that up, too. She couldn't help but be slightly proud of her ability to orchestrate that. "So you will speak with the Arl?"

Isolde sat up a little straighter. "Indeed. I will remind him who saved his son, who walked through the Flames to get to Andraste's Ashes for him. It was not only Alistair." She looked from Alistair to Leliana. "It was two mages, three women, an elf… He is not the only one who has had some assumptions challenged." She smiled. "I assure you: by this time tomorrow, he will understand _exactly_ who is in charge when it comes to this Blight."

"Thank you, My Lady," she said, taking a sip of her tea and allowing the conversation to switch to more mundane, frivolous things. There was going to be a fete the next day, after all.

* * *

Solona woke up to lips on her neck, a hand on her breast.

She smiled. "Good morning, love."

She felt those lips curve into a smile while pressed against her throat. "_Bonjour, mon amour_," the bard replied, tweaking her nipple before allowing her hand to creep lower.

"I suppose it's time I finally repay you for your kindness?"

"Mmmmm, yes please," the bard murmured, sliding on top of her and kissing her languidly. Her hands explored the mage with abandon, and Solona was pretty sure she would need it by the time her lover was done.

Someone banged on the door.

"_Incroyable_!"

"Solona! Leliana! I need you!"

"Dammit, Alistair," Solona yelled back. "What in Hell do you need _now_?!"

A pause. "I'm going to be the next king, and I don't know how to dance."

"_Merde_," her lover muttered before pushing herself up.

"What? You're getting up? Surely he can wait ten minutes?"

"I want you for much, much longer than that, Solona. We can… return to our previous activities later this morning, alright?"

Five minutes later, they were dressed and opening the door.

She began speaking immediately. "What do you mean you don't know how to dance? Didn't you grow up here?"

Alistair made a frustrated sound. "Yes, as a _stable boy_. You don't teach stable boys how to dance, even if they're the king's bastard son."

"It is alright, Solona. We will simply teach him some of the more simple moves."

"But the party is _tonight_! He couldn't have said something _sooner_? And… we had plans for this morning…"

Alistair turned bright red. "Ah! I'm sorry for interrupting, alright?! Please stop talking about bed sport and _help me_!"

Leliana touched her arm. "There is time later, Solona, as I said. Look at him." She smirked. "He's so pathetic"

Solona snorted, then dropped her head. "I know, I just… I abandoned you last night…" She had spent the afternoon speaking with Jowan. They had come to a place of peace, even if she was still angry with him. He had made it clear that none of it was her fault, and asked her that, should she ever see Lilley again, that she let her know he loved her. She had sworn it, silently swearing to herself to do her best to find the woman. She deserved to know his fate, even if she, too, was angry.

Leliana had been asleep when she had come to bed, however, making it so she _still_ wasn't able to reciprocate. Add that with this morning and the previous morning, and the woman had to be so desperate that she was probably ready to rub herself to release on the doorjamb. "We will have time this afternoon, Solona. You can repay your debts then, yes?"

Solona sighed. "Very well."

What followed was four tortuous hours of finding out just how uncoordinated Alistair's feet were without a sword and shield in his hands. In the stables. With the beast who usually tried to throw her from its saddle. She swore it laughed at her the entire time, tossing its head and snorting.

At one point, Alistair had asked her how she knew how to dance.

"We teach ourselves many things in the Tower," she'd said, cursing when he stepped on her foot again.

"Sorry!"

"I think it is time for a different tactic," Leliana said, removing Solona from his death-grip. She squared off with him as though they were sparring, his feet instantly taking on the appropriate stance. "Both of you: face me."

"But you'll just put us in the dust, like usual," Alistair said, glancing over at Solona. Solona just shrugged and dropped into a combat stance, as well.

"Just do it and trust me," Leliana said, "and do not attack." Solona smirked. Maker, she wished she could drag that woman off to bed rather than be here, with the smell of horse dung and the heat of the stables. She'd given up on that long ago, however, at this point simply hoping that her clothing wouldn't be too bad before the fete tonight.

Leliana circled around them, and immediately Solona could see what she was doing. Her feet had a rhythm, her hips swaying to the inaudible beat, as well. She started to hum a melody as soon as Alistair's feet joined hers, and within a minute or two, Solona placed herself in his arms, continuing the rhythm.

He laughed as they danced. "That's it?! Why did I think it was so hard?"

Leliana smiled, no longer moving, simply clapping the rhythm for them. "Because you built it up in your head. But as you can see, there is very little difference between this and sparring. Just – don't try to spar with any of the ladies with whom you might dance tonight, yes?"

"I don't know," Solona said, raising her eyebrow at him. "That would certainly be entertaining."

She jumped away when he released her, clearly intending to swat her on the arm. Laughing, she swept Leliana up and danced her around the stables, leading her in a rhythm that was much faster than the one they'd been dancing to. She laughed, falling easily into the following position, Alistair laughing as he watched, as well.

"You lead and follow so well, my love," Leliana exclaimed, laughing again as Solona continued to lead her around the stable. She loved hearing those words fall from Leliana's lips, making her swell to think how lucky she was.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, and I find the three of you locked up in the heat with the horses." Solona stopped them, looking to the entrance to see Morrigan frowning at them. "I have been sent to find you," she explained.

"_You_ were sent to find us?" Alistair folded his arms over her chest.

"Indeed, I, too, am surprised. But when Wynne and Zevran could not find you, they asked me to help. As my other option was to try to teach the boy, who could not be left alone, I agreed."

"Well," Solona said, letting Leliana go and coming to stand in front of the witch. "Here we are. What is needed of us, and who needs it?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "I believe it is time to get ready for this ridiculous _event_ that is to occur tonight."

* * *

Solona looked at herself in the mirror. There had been a snafu when she first came to get ready – the servants had attempted to get her into a dress. She hadn't worn a true dress since she was five, some party or wedding or something she'd attended in Lothering with her parents before being sent to the Circle. She wasn't about to wear one tonight.

She had sent them away, bathed, and was just despairing of having something to wear that was anywhere near as nice as the dress when Alistair had appeared at her door, looking quite handsome and kingly. He had led her to his room and proceeded to have the servants that had been dressing him pick out something for her. Now she stood in front of his mirror, giving the final approval to the black hose, blood-red shirt, and brown suede vest with matching boots they had selected for her.

Alistair nearly had a heart attack when they offered to cover the tattoo on her face for her. Solona laughed at him, explaining to them that she would not be covering the tattoo, that it was a mark of her status. It was not technically a lie – it indeed marked her status as apostate – but she did not clarify, and they did not ask her to. As they left, she addressed the future king.

"I did not realize quite how elves were treated outside of the Circle."

"It's atrocious, really," he said, his eyebrows knit as he looked to the door, as well. "I hope it's something I can start to change." He looked to her. "Wait, 'outside of the Circle'? How are elves treated inside it?"

She shrugged. "Shitty. But no different from the human mages. We do all our own work, no servants or anything. Elves in the Circle are mages. Those who come later in life tend to be a bit more bitter toward humans, but it clears up pretty quickly when it's clear they're not to be servants there. I've had more than one person explain to me how it is outside the Circle, but I'd never _seen_ it before. No wonder Wynne was so incredulous on Zevran's behalf yesterday – she's never seen it either, and, personally, if someone treated Leliana like that, I would have _words_ to say."

He snorted. "I bet you would. Now, come on, handsome Lady," he said, offering her his arm and smiling cheekily at her. "We have a party to greet, as Wardens, and commanders in our own right."

"So," she said as they headed down, her arm in his. "What did the more wild members of our party decide to do?"

Alistair grinned. "Well, Morrigan changed into a raven, leaving her clothing in the hallway and flying out the window. Gave the servants quite a fright. But I think Connor is now her fan forever."

Solona laughed. "She claims to not like frivolity, but she sure does love making a spectacle."

"Agreed. Sten took Max to his room when the kennel master started complaining. Apparently, your mabari has an incredibly high sex drive, and was quite capable of climbing his way into the kennel where all the female hunting dogs are kept. The Arl is going to have quite a few litters of half-mabari war dogs."

Solona winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to having to keep an eye on him. He pretty much operates on his own when we're out. He's less of a dog and more a companion who can't talk."

Alistair nodded. "I know. I think we all forgot about him."

"Do you think we'll have a problem with him and the horses?" She couldn't help but be a little hopeful. If he did, she would choose him over the horses with no qualms whatsoever.

Alistair shook his head. "His old master was a warrior in the army. He would have been trained around horses from the time he was a pup."

_Damn_. Their time getting to chat was up – up ahead, they could see the Arl and Arlessa waiting for them to go to the entrance to the fete.

The "greeting" was really them being introduced to every guest that came through the door. It tried her patience, as she could not even stand with Leliana, but Alistair did at least have funny anecdotes to share about some of the guests. No one truly important was in attendance, but every minor noble from the areas surrounding Redcliffe were there. It was hoped that it would be enough to begin to cast doubt on Queen Anora's regent – Loghain. Some of the more eligible daughters were introduced to Alistair, all of them giving him a healthy view of their cleavage as they curtsied. She teased him, he turned bright red, and suddenly Solona felt a little better for having to stand there with him.

Finally, it was over, and Alistair led her in a dance. It was a little weird to be so close to him, being led around while wearing clothes usually reserved for men, and, being the kind of person she was, she commented on it. He agreed, but also made it clear that he was most comfortable with her and Leliana.

"You're like a brother – or a sister? – to me," he said. "Yes, it's a little weird to be dancing with you, but dear Maker it's better than those _children_ whose parents clearly want me to marry them."

"Yes, that is a little disturbing," Solona agreed as the dance ended. They both bowed to each other, snickering at Solona's utter dismissal of femininity for the evening. "Alright, let me go find Leli? I'll dance with her, then let you have a turn."

"The implications of that last statement are a little disturbing," he called after her, to which she replied with a wink that had him both bright red and laughing as she hurried away.

Unfortunately, just as she spotted Leliana's red hair, just hoping to see what clothes she had been provided, she was intercepted by the Lady Isolde.

"Warden! May I presume to ask this dance?"

She smiled. "Of course, Lady Isolde. Shall I lead or follow?"

The woman giggled. "I would prefer to follow."

She took the woman in her arms, making an apologetic face toward Leliana, who had just spotted her, and began moving the Arlessa through the dance floor. "I wanted to let you know, Lady Solona, that you should no longer have any trouble with my husband."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Leliana and Alistair came to me to let me know that he was dismissing you because you are a woman. I have… handled him."

She turned the woman under her arm, pulling her back in and moving around once more. "I had no idea that was the reason. I thought perhaps it was because I am a mage…"

The Arlessa shook her head. "No, it is because these Ferelden noblemen forget that it is their wives, mothers, and sisters who actually make everything work. I am sorry that he treated you so."

Solona shrugged as best she could. "It is quite alright, My Lady. Truth be told, I am somewhat out of my element. The hierarchy within the Circle is quite different – based on merit and age, rather than sex or status at birth."

"Well, you have good friends to look out for you. I am glad to see Alistair with someone who is so clever and cunning. She will serve him well as king. And they make such an adorable couple."

Solona stopped dead in her dance for a moment. "Alistair and… Leliana? I'm sorry?"

"Are they not together?"

Solona began to move again, shaking her head. "No, My Lady. They are not. Leliana is… well, _I_ am with her. We are… an item."

"Oh…" Solona turned her once more, pulling her in.

"What, uh, gave you the impression they were together?"

"The lady's room has been empty. Of all your companions, Alistair seemed the most likely to me to be the one whose bed she shared. And when they came to me about you together… I suppose I simply assumed. I apologize I took their friendship for something more."

Solona grinned. "No apology necessary, My Lady. I think we'll all get a laugh out of it, truth be told."

They finished their dance amicably, and when the music ended, she escorted the Arlessa off the floor like a proper gentleman. She made a passable bow, and when she straightened, Leliana was next to her. She looked absolutely stunning in a deep blue, satin dress, with matching shoes much like the ones she had described to Solona that one night, weeks and weeks ago. "If you do not mind, My Lady, I would steal the Warden away for myself.

"Yes, of course, Lady Leliana. I should check on my husband…" And she wandered off, carrying herself with a grace that Solona was sure she herself would not be able to pull off in that dress.

Leliana's hand found hers. "Dance with me, my Warden?"

She smiled, struck momentarily speechless, looking down into those deep blue eyes. The look on Leliana's face… She nodded, leading her out onto the dance floor.

Their dance was… almost scandalous. Leliana kept pressing very close, her hand sometimes wandering to very suggestive places. Solona only ever saw her in this mood when they were both naked in their tent. She liked it.

When their dance was over, Leliana took her hand and immediately began leading her away. Solona followed, enjoying the view of the bard's retreating form. When they left the party altogether, however, entering the castle from the courtyard, she spoke up. "Leli? Um, where are we going?"

* * *

Zevran rolled the dice another time. He had decided that it would be easier for everyone if an elf didn't attend the ball as a guest. He had made his way to town instead, not even having to talk himself into this game of chance. The townspeople remembered him, and the free drinks had been coming steadily all night.

The door to the tavern opened, causing everyone to look up. He took advantage of their lost attention, spying the loosely-held cards of his fellows. He cursed to himself when he saw that his neighbor had a better hand than he did. But at least that meant that he could fold, not roll the dice again, and at least not lose any more coin to the pot. Or perhaps he could bluff the man into folding himself…

He finally looked up to see who had come into the inn, his heart skipping when he saw Wynne standing there, looking absolutely radiant in a dress of green silk, looking almost naked without her ever-present staff and bags of herbs. She was standing just inside the door, looking around for something. His heart sped back up, slamming hard into his chest, when he realized that is was _he_ that she searched for.

"I fold," he said without preamble, picking up his mug of ale and downing the rest of it before leaving the table, ignoring the disappointed calls he got from his fellow card-players. "Wynne." He spoke her name as he approached her, coming to stand before her, unable to keep a smile off his face. "You look absolutely stunning. Why are you not at the party?"

She smiled, taking his hands. "I stayed for a little while. But there was some very important company I was missing. Why did you not come, Zevran? I had to ask a servant where you had gone."

He shrugged. "I figured it would be best if we did not have every single noble be asking me for a drink all night," he answered, wondering inwardly at how he had been able to escape this treatment in Antiva. The arm of the Crows was long, indeed, if it had spared him this treatment.

She narrowed her eyes. "All the more reason to stay, make them see that you are not just one step above a slave."

"Please, Wynne. I am at peace with it. I have no desire to spend my time that way anymore." He sighed. "In truth, parties remind me of my time as a Crow, and that is not what I want to be reminded of while I am at your side."

Her face softened, and she reached out a hand to cup his cheek. "I am sorry. I hadn't even thought of that."

He took her hand, suddenly aware of how quiet the common room had become. He was new to this, but he knew he did not want this side of himself, being vulnerable for a woman, tainted by the hollering men tended to do when in a group. "Come, let us find somewhere more private."

"The room in the back's open," the innkeeper told him quietly as he passed. "Free of charge. I remember what you and the Wardens did when the town was bein' attacked."

Zevran nodded his thanks. He winced when someone whistled, a lewd comment following them as they made their way to the back of the hallway.

"I apologize," he said as he opened the door. "I forget how unseemly men can be when they are all together like that. Hardly appropriate for a lady of your caliber."

He turned around to shut the door, but found it taken from his hands, the mage shutting it behind her, the most intense look he had ever seen upon her face. He opened his mouth to say something, but she placed a finger over his lips, continuing to stare into his eyes. He simply looked back, his heart suddenly racing, his stomach jumping in a way he had never experienced before.

She lowered her hand from his lips, placing it on his chest. She fingered the material of his homespun tunic, her eyes following her fingers. He still couldn't read the look on her face. Her other hand came up, paralleling the other already on his chest, now feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, travelling slowly from his shoulders to his collarbone, then down to the muscles of his chest. He was tempted to take her into his arms, kiss her, but something told him to stay still.

Truth be told, he was incredibly nervous to be alone with her like this. He all at once hoped that she would come to his bed this night, and yet also hoped she merely wished to talk some more. He was getting good at it – she knew most of the good and neutral things about him, and even some of the bad things.

He knew how to make love to a woman, knew how to make her feel good, knew how to be a strong man who could provide what she needed. But he did not know how to love, or at least not how to show it. Looking upon her body filled him with lust, and yet it was different – her body made him want to speak of love, and life, and to simply hold her against him, feeling her skin touch as much of him as he could manage. He had simply never done this with someone with whom he was being honest about how he felt, and he found it quite terrifying.

After a minute or so of setting his body ablaze with her touch, she spoke. "It has been… a long time." She looked up into his eyes once more, inching a little closer. He was stunned by how clear her eyes were, how bright the blue in them was.

"Since…?"

"Since I was with someone who was more than a convenient friend."

He smiled a self-deprecating smile. "That is also true for me, Wynne."

She nodded, conceding that to him. "I fear I do not know how to start," she confessed, continuing to finger the material of his tunic, feel the muscles underneath, her crystal-blue eyes staring into his.

This was the moment. Did they do this now? Or did he act the coward, back out and sit and talk the rest of the night, taking care of his lust on his own at a later time?

Making his decision, he placed a hand on hers, stilling it, stepping closer and placing his other hand on her waist. "It usually starts with a kiss," he whispered. "_Un pequeño beso_."

She smirked a little. "That's it, is it?"

He nodded, drawing her closer. "It does not have to be more complicated than that, I think." He paused, cocking his head to the side as he looked into her eyes. "I think it can be simple: do you want this?"

She was very close now. He could feel her breath on his lips. She nodded. "Yes. I want this. I want… you."

He smiled. "_Te quiero_, _también_. _Me gustas tu_, Wynne." He closed the distance between them, covering her lips with his own and pulling her flush against him, feeling her heartbeat thudding against him in a delicious counter-beat to his own. She gasped a little, a small whimper escaping her, her body tensing for the briefest moment before relaxing, melting to fit his shape. He groaned a little to feel her breasts press against him, even through all that fabric.

He didn't know how to handle her. He wanted to cherish her, not manhandle her. But what if she liked that? Damn this uncertainty! Zevran Arainai was not a man who was unsure of what women wanted!

Her fingers went into his hair, undoing the leather thong holding it in place. He smiled into the kiss, doing the same for her – grateful for the direction, in fact – running his fingers through her hair as he ventured his tongue out to taste her. It was a taste he had become addicted to with their first kiss, a taste he _always_ wanted more of. They had had some passionate moments in the woods, but he never let down his restraint, always the shy boy not wanting to disappoint his elder by being too eager.

Not now. Now, his heart swelling with an emotion he could not yet name, he took this woman into his arms, leading her to the bed in the corner, expert fingers finding the laces in the front of her dress and quickly loosening them. Her hands wrapped around his neck, holding on tightly, pressing her body to his in a desperate embrace. It was like she could not get close enough.

He could fix that, however. He deposited her on the edge of the bed, not hesitating in pulling his shirt up over his head. He then sat next to her, enjoying the feel of her fingers on his skin as she explored his hairless chest. He leaned over, sampling the skin of her neck, enjoying the sounds she made, sounds he never thought he would hear coming from her. Her skin was warm, soft, and tasted vaguely of the same taste her mouth held. It was simply intoxicating.

His nervousness was gone, replaced by a deep excitement.

His hands strayed upward again, and he began to unlace her bodice in earnest. He stopped abruptly, the uncertainty returning briefly when he felt her hands leave his skin, felt them join his on her dress. Pulling back a little, he looked down to find she was _helping_. A few tugs, and the front of her dress was open, displaying an absolutely _perfect_ set of breasts – pale-skinned, only slightly wrinkled with her years, full and heavy with their weight, and yet with nipples still perky enough to look right back at him.

"Oh, Wynne," he murmured, looking into her eyes for permission.

She smirked, her hands on his chest once more. "Are they everything you have been dreaming of?"

His eyes flashed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, turning her and pressing her onto her back. "There is only one way to find out," he answered her, before finally, _finally_, diving into those marvelous bosoms.

* * *

_Please review? I live for them. Also, PM your guess at the title. It's related to the contents of this chapter and the next in a big way._

_I wanted to make sure to give credit where it's due: I can't be sure if the idea for a ball at this juncture was completely or only a little bit inspired by Snafu1000's "Moments In Time." But I wanted to make sure to throw it out there that it is altogether likely that this idea was all hers, and I borrowed it. But I will say, my use of it was entirely for the purposes of building up to what the next chapter will open with. So. There._

_Hope you enjoyed!_


	26. Chapter 25 - Pation

_A/N: Hey, all. A little mini-update for you. All smut. I decided to not keep you waiting forever. And I already had it written, and it didn't really fit in the next chapter at all. So. Here you go!_

_Again, I cannot warn you enough - smut to follow._

_Also - Raven Sinead won my silly little contest, and has made her request. Now to decide where to include it..._

* * *

Chapter 25

**…Pation**

"Leli? Um, where are we going?"

"To take care of something," Leliana answered, utterly cryptically. Solona knit her brows in confusion at the answer, her bewilderment only growing when Leliana opened a door at random, took a peek inside, took another peek down the hallway, and then pulled Solona inside.

"Okay, really, Leli, what's goi-" She was cut off when Leliana pushed her into the door and crushed their lips together. She immediately kissed her back, not really bothered that the room was dark and felt rather cramped, her arms going around her lover and pulling her close. The bard pulled back after a moment, panting.

"Two days, Solona. _Two days!_ And I have been hovering on the blade's edge the entire time!" Her lips were suddenly on Solona's neck, arms looped around her shoulders and pulling the mage lower so she could reach better.

"I'm sorry, Leliana! I wanted to this afternoon, but time got away from us."

Leliana continued as if she hadn't heard. "And then I had to watch you spinning that _tart_ of an Arlessa around before you would dance with _me_," she breathed, nipping at Solona's throat every few words.

"I- ah! I'm sorry, Leli! I couldn't turn down the Arlessa for a dance. But I was coming over to you-" Lips crushing into hers cut her off.

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Warden," the bard said, tangling her fingers into the mage's hair and pulling slightly. "If you do not fuck me _right now_, I will be forced to go out there and find someone who will."

"I- wait, you would do that?"

"I certainly _could_. It has not been so long since I seduced someone that I am not still _quite_ capable."

Solona stared in the dark for a moment, then grabbed the bard and turned her around so _her_ back was against the door, dropped to her knees, and immediately began wading through petticoats. Leliana helped, grabbing handfuls of skirts and pulling up, and soon Solona was presented with a familiar scent, her hands brushing up against the soft, downy hair over her lover's sex.

"No smallclothes?"

Leliana groaned. "Not in dresses, no, my love." She paused. "Aren't you supposed to be- oh!"

Solona had surged forward, lifting one of Leliana's legs over her shoulder and burying her face between the bard's legs.

"_Oh, mon Dieu!_"

Solona groaned, savoring the taste of her lover. But she couldn't quite get where she need to. Pulling back, she shifted Leliana's leg, holding it up and out at the knee with one hand, stabilizing the bard's hips with her other hand. Pressing forward once more, she found what she wanted, pushing her tongue inside Leliana as far as she could.

"Solona," the bard breathed, her fingers tangled in the mage's hair, pulling mercilessly. Solona didn't mind. She just groaned once more, pulling her tongue back and lashing that sensitive bundle near the top. Leliana's breathing became even more ragged. Solona could tell she was very close: her body began to tremble, and she had switched to a steady stream of Orlesian, most of which was uttered so quickly that Solona couldn't understand it.

Suddenly, the bard's legs tensed, tightening somewhat around Solona's head, blocking all sound as she hovered momentarily on that cliff's edge before another lash of Solona's tongue sent her careening over. She tensed, her whole body going rigid, her fingers tightening to an almost painful degree in Solona's hair. Solona kept up the work with her tongue, doing her best to clean up the splash of liquid she felt on her chin.

After another moment that could have been an eternity, the pressure in her hair made it clear she should stop. Leliana pulled her away, bending over to immediately kiss her. Solona stood, stooping to reach the woman, kissing her and holding her trembling body in her arms.

Wetness on her cheeks made her pull back enough to speak. "Leliana, are you crying?" The bard shook her head, pulling her down for another kiss, but Solona turned her head, kissing her cheek and tasting salt. "Why are you crying, my darling girl?"

A small laugh. "No reason. Just… release," she breathed, shaking her head and kissing the mage again.

"Fair enough," she murmured, reaching up to stroke the woman's somewhat intricately-done hair. "So… were you really jealous of the Arlessa?"

A beat of silence followed. "Not _really_. But… well, I was a little jealous of the Arlessa, but I have mostly been jealous of your _time_."

"What do you mean?"

"You have been in meetings and having dinners with the Arl and his family, helping Wynne teach Connor… I'm used to having you to myself if we're not travelling," she muttered, laughing a little at herself. "I am not used to having to share you." She giggled. "But being jealous of the other woman you were dancing with certainly got me what I wanted from you."

Solona snorted, shaking her head and kissing the bard deeply.

They stayed that way for a few more moments, sweaty and cramped into some kind of closet. Eventually, Solona pulled back, and Leliana fixed her skirts the best she could in the dark. Spying that the coast was clear, she exited the room – indeed, a broom closet – leading Leliana by the hand.

"Thank you, Solona. I-"

Solona placed a hand over her lips to silence her, then replaced it with her own lips. "Are you joking? That was incredible, and I can't wait to sneak off sometime and do it again," she said, pulling back and grinning broadly.

Leliana smiled, then touched her own lips, her cheeks turning red. "We should go find a place to wash up."

Solona knit her eyebrows in confusion. Leliana was blushing after what they just did? Solona was fairly certain the woman had no room to have any shame after that. "Why?"

Leliana giggled. "Because, you smell like me, and now I do, as well, my love. People will know what you have been up to."

Solona felt her cheeks heat. She'd found out what would make Leliana blush so, even after dragging her off in the middle of a party and demanding to be taken then and there. "Right. Well. Lead on, My Lady," she said, sweeping her arm out as she bowed, offering the other arm to the bard. Leliana giggled, taking her arm and leading her off in search of a washroom.

* * *

_So, like I said - super short. But no more having to sit on the edge of your seats to see what Leliana had in mind, right?_


	27. Chapter 26 - Awaken, Warriors

_A/N: Holy crap, guys! I'm back! That was a much longer break than I had anticipated. But! I posted some things (a couple of Mass Effect fics and a Dragon Age one-shot that no one seems to be interested in... oh well), and I got this chapter to where it needs to be. We're moving right along, now, and hopefully it doesn't disappoint. I got some new readers during my unintended hiatus, and I hope I can live up to the wonderful reviews they've left me. :)_

* * *

Chapter 26

**Awake, Warriors**

Wynne lay on her back, head resting on the pillow, looking down at the sleeping form by her side. The morning light was barely starting to shine through the slats over the window, and she had heard the innkeeper get up and begin working just a few minutes before.

Zevran lay with his head upon her bosom, which really shouldn't surprise her, given his fascination with them over the last few months. She smiled, thinking of his enthusiasm the night before when she finally revealed them to him. He had quickly dropped his uncharacteristic boyish shyness, taking them in-hand and reveling in them. Of course, he had also quickly moved on, getting her out of her dress and practically worshipping her body, calling her a goddess as they made love.

It had been… intense. And tremendously fun. They had made love several times, the elf bringing her to a height of passion she had never experienced before – he truly was as talented as he said he was. But he said it was different, too, that this was not about simply pleasing his partner because he found it arousing. He'd said that it was more than that – it brought him pleasure to please her. He had delighted in every bit of her, reveling in her very womanhood.

And she had reveled in his manhood, delighted by his strength, the feel of his skin and sinewy muscles, the way he held her and made her feel wanted. And loved. He made her feel loved. She blushed now to think of everything they had explored in that one night. And she blushed to admit to herself that she wished to do it once more, as soon as she could. She wanted to know more of this man, connect in this very visceral way, and lie with his head on her stomach and listen as he spoke of his childhood, of the women who raised him, of his love of good wine and card games.

Without thinking, she bent forward and kissed his forehead. He woke instantly, alert, a look of confusion on his face for an instant before he focused on her. His face relaxed into a genuine smile, and he pushed himself up, taking her into his arms and kissing her like she was water and he was dying of thirst.

* * *

Leliana awoke to a mess. A mess that she had had no small part in creating. Sitting up, she stretched, smiling as she felt the warm body next to her shift, then groan.

"Good morning, my love," she murmured, bending over to kiss Solona's shoulder.

Another groan. "I think you may have killed me."

She giggled. "Nonsense. There is no way little me could break a big, strong Grey Warden like yourself."

"Hmph," was all the response she got. The mage was tangled in the blankets, her head hidden by a pillow, which Leliana pulled from her to get her to wake. "Hey!"

She giggled again. "It is time to get up, my Warden. We are to leave after breaking our fast, remember?"

"No." She sat up grinning, immediately pulling Leliana into her lap. "I do believe that you fucked that memory right out of me."

She slapped the mage's arm. "Language, Solona! Really, you would make a prostitute blush."

Solona buried her face in Leliana's neck, causing her to laugh and push the mage away. "Why censor myself when it's just us? Besides," she said, smirking. "It's certainly _true_."

Leliana opened her mouth to protest, then looked around, remembering how, the moment it was polite to go to bed, she had dragged Solona off to bed and thoroughly ravished her, laying claim to her Warden more than once. "Perhaps you are right…"

Solona snorted, pulling her close and kissing her hard. "I don't mind, love. But no fair reprimanding me for foul language when _you're_ the one who decided she liked to take control in bed." She kissed Leliana's shoulder, sending a shiver down the bard's spine. Leliana rearranged herself, straddling the mage's lap and pressing their lips together, dipping her tongue out to taste tea and honey, even through the layers of warm sleep and Leliana's own sex that lingered.

Solona pulled back after a few minutes of slow, languid kissing, kissing her shoulder once more before speaking. "Do you prefer it like that, Leliana?"

Leliana rested her elbows on Solona's shoulders, letting her arms drape loosely behind her. "Hmm? How do you mean?"

Solona knit her brows. "I mean… in control. Dominant. Telling me what to do." She chuckled. "I'm not very good at describing it."

Leliana pulled her arms back slowly, leaning back a little with her hands in her lap. "I'm…" She didn't know what to say. Introducing someone so new to everything, so early on… it probably wasn't her smartest move. But Solona had gone along with it, seemed to enjoy it, and Leliana had found it to be the most thrilling thing they'd done yet.

"Leli," Solona coaxed, leaning forward to make up the distance Leliana had put between them, kissing her just between her breasts and looking up into her eyes. "Leliana, what's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no," she rushed, taking the mage's face in her hands and kissing her forehead. "I just…" She sighed, trying to find the words she needed. "I am much more… experienced than you are. I have had the chance to… explore. I like a variety of things. But _this_ is not something I've ever been able to explore with someone I cared about. At least… not this side of it."

"What do you mean?"

Leliana began to fidget with her fingers. "I… Maker, I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she half-laughed, feeling her face heat. How was it that she couldn't talk about this now, but could actually _do_ it last night? "I am small and feminine, my strength hidden from view. I have been in the submissive role during sex my whole life," she finally managed. "Yesterday, I confirmed that I prefer a more dominant role." She looked up finally, finding Solona's slate-grey eyes and being momentarily stunned by how beautiful they were framed by her dark skin.

"Leli," she said, smiling a little. "You don't have to worry. I _liked_ it, as much as you did." She grinned, and Leliana found it infectious, grinning back as she looked into those impossibly pale grey eyes. "The thought of you taking control, laying claim to me, using that strength to possess me… it is intoxicating. But… you could have _told_ me what you wanted, you know," she finished, digging her fingers into the bard's side a little.

Leliana shrieked, batting the mage away as she tried to breathe. "Wicked creature!"

Solona laughed, pulling the bard close again and kissing her deeply. "You are my light, Leliana. Just tell me what you want to try, and I will happily surrender. I know I can trust you not to hurt me."

Leliana's heart soared at those words. She wrapped her arms around the mage's shoulders, kissing her in turn. When she pulled back, she looked around. "Sorry I got a little jealous of you dancing with Lady Isolde. She wasn't even making a move! It was silly. But I had been in an almost constant state of arousal for so long, and there was just something about seeing another move in on… _mine_."

Solona snorted, slapping her bottom, causing Leliana to jump a little. "If it gets me that reaction every time, then I shall just have to shamelessly flirt with every woman I come across," she teased.

"Rogue!" Leliana laughed before taking her roughly by the hair, yanking her head back, and kissing her hard.

"Mmmm, my point exactly," Solona murmured, kissing her again before turning her over onto her back, starting them toward indulging in a quick bout of lovemaking before it was truly time to break their fast and leave.

* * *

A movement next to him woke Alistair up. He opened his eyes to find a woman's pale naked bottom staring him in the face.

"Maker!"

The woman turned around, a surprised sound escaping her lips. "Alistair! I mean, your Majest-"

"Please, don't," Alistair said, sitting up and grabbing her hands, which held her dress. "I've know you since we were children, Ellia. Besides," he said, smiling into her large, shining eyes, "I'm not king yet. And we don't want anyone to know yet that I'm going to be."

She smiled, ducking her head. "As you wish."

"Please, please don't do that." He pulled on her hands a little, getting her to look back at him. "It's just me, sitting here in front of you. Just like it always was. Well," he amended, "except for the no clothes bit."

She laughed at that, which was exactly what he wanted. "As you wish, _Alistair_. Had I offered as a kid, you wouldn't have known what to do, anyway."

He laughed. "I was ten years old! Hardly old enough to know how it all worked! And you were far too young for that anyway."

Her face got a little sad. "You are a good man, Alistair – but naïve to think that. There are far too many older men who like the idea of a young girl in their bed, especially a young elven girl."

His jaw dropped a little. "I- I- have you had to endure…?"

She shook her head, pulling her hands away and tucking her red hair behind her long, pointed ears. "No, I haven't. But I've heard stories from the other women in the castle." She moved to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. "Not all lords are as good as Arl Eamon – many allow their guests free reign over their servants."

He frowned. "I can't believe…" He put a finger under her chin, getting her to look at him again. "I'm going to do what I can do change all this. I can't… change everyone's prejudice. But I can change the _law_, get elvish representation in my advisory board. I can get the elves out of the Alienage – or at least put money _into_ the Alienage, make it not such a dump."

She smiled, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Oh, Alistair! You will make a _great_ king!"

He smiled, hugging her back. But the feel of her pressed against him was beginning to be distracting, naked as they both were. And he knew she had work to do, and didn't want to detain her, so he pulled away, smiling down at her. "It's more than fair. The elves are just as much a part of this country as their human counterparts. I just wish more people could see it. I'm not any better than you."

"Well," she said, cupping his cheek with her hand, "perhaps it will do this country some good to have a common-raised king."

He turned his face, kissed her palm, then released her the rest of the way. "I know you have work to get to. I don't want to get in the way of that."

Her eyes flashed, and she raised herself onto her knees before straddling his lap, pressing her breasts very close to his face. "Oh, they aren't expecting me for at least an hour," she answered, pulling his face up and covering his lips with her own. When her tongue slipped in his mouth and her pelvis gyrated against his, he knew he couldn't have said no even if he'd wanted to.

* * *

Sten awoke instantly, finding Max sniffing around his face. He'd been given the same room as the last time he'd been at the castle, which he approved of, as he already knew how to make himself a bed by the fire. The fire wasn't lit – it was still far too hot for a fire indoors – but it was still a comfortable place that was big enough for him to stretch out.

Stretching, he got up, putting on the clothing that had been cleaned in the night and going to the tray of food that had been left for him. The legends of the elves' soft tread must not be exaggerated if the servants here could come into the room multiple times without waking him.

He had retired early to his room the night before, taking the hound with him after the kennel-master complained of him. He understood the animal's need – he, too, was travelling with those not his own, unable to mate, take care of his needs. He knew that male humans sometimes took care of themselves, but that was not something a kossith male could do – part of the act of mating involved losing control with another. So he understood the dog's enthusiasm when he had discovered the kennel full of females in heat. He was not sure he would be able to control himself if presented with a similar pen of eager kossith women.

He had watched out his window while he had awaited the dinner the elven servants brought to him. He watched the adult males shake hands, then present young females. The females acted so strangely, bending forward and allowing the blonde Warden to look at their breasts. He _did_ find the Warden's obvious discomfort amusing, however, though he couldn't begin to imagine why the Warden didn't like it. The young females were obviously just reaching breeding age, and would naturally be looking to find mates. The male Warden's discomfort was misplaced – he should simply pick one and mate with her, be done with it. Sten did not understand this society.

He finished breaking his fast and moved to exit the room, taking Max outside to relieve himself while the Qunari did his morning exercises with the sword strapped to his back.

As he worked through the forms, holding his sword high above his head, feeling his arm muscles bunch and willing them to relax, he thought of his sword, _Asala_. His soul. Regret filled his heart at what he had done in his panic, killing the very farmers who had saved him, nursed him back to awareness. He had known no other humans to think him worth saving – most cowered in fear at his approach. These had shared their meager food with him, allowing him around their children. And he had repaid them by slaughtering them all when they told him they did not know where his sword was.

His panic he understood. He could not return to his people without _Asala_. He could not turn in his report to the arishok, nor could he _ever_ see anyone who followed the Qun again. His only hope of communing with those like him would be to join up with Tal Vishoth, which was worse than death to Sten. To _all_ Sten. So he followed a Grey Warden in hopes of somehow redeeming his sin against those farmers. And he could not deny that there was a small part of him that hoped they would somehow find _Asala_.

But it was impossible. To find such a small thing in a country so large.

His soul burned to think of what might have happened to it. Some hawker selling it to the highest bidder. He must at least _try_ to retrieve it.

He would go to the Warden. She had managed to retrieve magical Ashes that had healed the Arl, though Sten refused to believe they were somehow divine – that cave had reeked of magic and lyrium. But still, she had managed to find a legend – a sword, by comparison, was only a small feat. He would bring her the information he had collected during their week-long stay at the lake, when he had travelled to the site of his kith's ambush. He would see if she could accomplish what he could not, and return to him his sword. _Asala_.

His soul.

* * *

Wind buffeted her, but she reveled in it. The feel of the air flowing through her wings, ruffling her feathers slightly as it fought to both stand them up and hold them down. It made her feel powerful, to be so small and yet master something as large as the sky, using the invisible air to propel herself higher than the clouds. She had discovered as a child, in her first form – this one, the raven – that the clouds were intangible, and it had been disappointing until she noted in Lothering that she was one of the few people around her who knew that. Having a secret delighted her, knowing – with proof! – that she was smarter than those around her. She never _divulged_ the secret, of course, but simply knowing she had one had satisfied her immensely.

Speaking of clouds, she could see some on the horizon that would be invisible from the ground. They were dark, heavy, ominous-looking, promising foul weather in the next day or two. Perhaps she should warn the Wardens?

She swooped down, alighting in the window she knew was the sole opening other than the door in the room she had been given. She had slept the night in the forest surrounding Redcliffe, not being able to stand one more night surrounded by stone walls. The idea that she might attend the inane festivities the nobles of this place had thrown was ridiculous, and she had let her disapproval be known before she had left. Alistair, at least, seemed to have appreciated it – she caught his grin even as he sought to calm the jumpy elven servants when she had uttered the word to change to her current form.

Alighting on the floor of her room, she shifted back to her natural form, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. She was surprised to find her tunic and skirts washed and folded neatly upon the table, but put them on without much thought. Underneath them were her shoes and the pins for her hair, which she put up without any preamble. What she did not find, however, was her mother's necklace, the one made from pure lyrium and enchanted to not harm the wearer, given to her when she had reached her maturity – the one gift her mother had ever given her. While she now knew her mother bore no love for her, had indeed planned to cast her soul from her body, still she kept the trinket. One did not part with something with such raw power, no matter the sentiment behind its gifting.

So where was it? Would the servants have stolen it, thinking it worth something? She doubted it; it was not worth their livelihoods, nor was it aesthetically pleasing in any way, making it utterly worthless to a common jeweler. She narrowed her eyes. Alistair had been in the hallway with her. He had taken it, she knew it.

Moments later she was exiting her room, intending to throw his door open and demand he return it to her at once. But she was stopped just steps from his door when it opened, spitting out a somewhat disheveled-looking elven woman still lacing up her bodice. Her eyes met the shorter woman's with curiosity and a healthy measure of ice, cutting into the servant's gaze like fire. The woman flinched, curtsied with a mumbled "Milady" and ran off, forgetting to latch the door. Morrigan glared after her.

The lunk had managed to bed someone without paying her? Of course, it was a tart of an elven servant, probably used to going to bed with visiting nobles. Now that it was known that Alistair would seek the throne, perhaps she sought to take advantage of him in some way?

She turned, catching a glimpse of his muscled back as he dropped a shirt over his shoulders through the partly-open door. The sight made her uncomfortable, her stomach involuntarily clenching at the sight, but she refused to even think about the reason why – even stupid men could be physically attractive, and it had been some time since her foray at the Pearl. Instead, she strode forward, barging through the door.

"Where is it, Alistair?"

He jumped, turning with his fists raised. His eyes registered her presence a second later, and he sagged, his arms going to his sides as he exhaled. "Maker, you scared me! Don't you know how to knock?"

She raised a brow, her hands on her hips. "There was no need. Your _evening company_ left the door open." She looked him up and down, taking in his ruffled hair, his vaguely satisfied smile, even under his slight scowl. "Honestly, you can do better, Alistair. Why be like so many and take a helpless _elf_ to your bed? Why not take someone who at least had the _option_ of denying you? Is it truly so exciting to lie with someone so… subservient?"

Anger flared in his face as she spoke, making her smirk. "Wait a minute! Ellia isn't- I didn't- You are an absolute _bitch_, Morrigan! She's an old friend from when _I_ was a servant here, as well! And _she_ put the moves on _me_!"

She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "_Clearly_ she simply wishes to bear you a bastard child, much like yourself, and profit from it once you are on the throne. You shouldn't let people take advantage of you, Alistair."

He just glared at her. "She knows I'm most likely infertile, and we took precautions anyway. Is it really so hard to believe that a woman might actually like me enough to want to be with me? That I might know enough to leave her as satisfied as she leaves me?"

The way he held himself, towering above her without overpowering her, holding his ground under her unnecessary attack without attacking her in return, sent a thrill through her. She didn't know what it was, but she _enjoyed_ these exchanges with him. What was wrong with her?

Instead of questioning it – exploring her feelings further – she changed topics. "Fine. I shall return to my initial query – where is it?"

His voice was still hard, but his stance backed off, the set of his shoulders relaxing. "Where is what?"

"My pendant, the one I always wear and which should have been with my clothing when I transformed last night."

His defensive stance completely dissolved at that. "Oh. This?" He held up the stone on the leather thong, pulling it from beneath his shirt.

Ignoring the small thrill that ran through her to know that it had lain against his skin, she strode forward to seize it from him. But she was stopped by his hand on her shoulder. "Hold on, let me take it off, and you can have it."

She narrowed her eyes as he did so, snatching it immediately from his hand when it was offered, again ignoring the slight increase in her heartbeat at feeling his heat within it. "And what possessed you to take it at all?"

He shrugged. "I thought you'd like it back, so I took it when I asked the servants present for your little _show_ to wash your clothes for you."

"Oh… I…" She looked up at him. He was very close. Too close. She could feel his warm breath, smell the slightly sweet scent of it. She feel smell all of him; the aroma of lavender and sandalwood, of wood smoke and sweat, of steel and leather, all clinging to him even when he was freshly bathed. The fact that she knew this made her uncomfortable. She could smell it now, though it was under-cut by a different scent, one not his own – a feminine scent. The smell of that _elven harlot_ clung to him. She narrowed her eyes and stepped back.

Turning on her heel, she marched from the room, not saying another word to him as she placed the pendant around her neck and dropped it into her shirt, feeling its familiar weight between her breasts. She smirked, knowing he would just stare after her, a look of confusion showing stupidly on his face. What she did not catch was the way his eyes followed the sway of her hips.

* * *

"There they are!"

Wynne walked hand-in-hand with Zevran, both still wearing the same clothes from the night before, through the gates to the castle. Solona smirked – they'd finally bedded each other, and from the glow she could see surrounding Wynne from here, it had been excellent.

"You were looking for us?" Zevran had a grin the size of a mabari's maw on his face, clearly far too proud of himself. Wynne's face flushed a deep red.

Solona snorted. "Come on, you two lovebirds. We leave in an hour!"

They hurried off to bathe and gather their belongings.

"'Tis most unsettling," Morrigan spoke up from next to her. Solona jumped, as she hadn't even known the witch was there.

"How do you mean?"

"Their… romance." She said the word with a look of distaste. "'Tis almost _sickening_, is it not?"

"Oh, I think it's sweet," Leliana replied, standing on the other side of Solona. The mage narrowed her eyes; she could smell an argument coming on. "So unlikely, and yet they are perfect for each other!"

Morrigan glared at the bard for a moment, opening her mouth to speak. Just as she did, however, their attention was pulled away by the timely arrival of Alistair. "Good morning," he greeted them, a sloppy grin on his face.

Solona narrowed her eyes at him, then grinned. "Good morning. You seem, uh… quite _chipper_ this morning."

He smiled. "I feel good."

Morrigan snorted. "I'd say so, given the elven _tart_ I found leaving his room this morning."

His expression clouded. Solona laughed out loud, Leliana grinning knowingly next to her. Both Morrigan and Alistair just looked at them quizzically. "What are you two snickering about?" Alistair crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, nothing," Leliana sing-songed. "Come along, Solona, we have a few more things to gather together."

They walked away, Solona's arm around Leliana's shoulders, Leliana's arm around her hip. "I bet they're back there, scratching their heads at us," she remarked.

"Almost certainly. But that's alright – they need one or two things to unite over if they're ever to consummate their relationship."

Solona snorted. "You say it as if it's going to be gentle and full of love and longing. I bet it'll be like sparring, full of anger. Lots of yelling."

Leliana's eyes flashed up at her. "I'll take that bet. What are you willing to wager, my Warden?"

Solona stared down at her for a moment, then narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "If I'm right, then you take two of my watches – on days when you wouldn't have had watch, of course."

Her heart skipped a beat at the sweet smile Leliana gave her in return. Her bard had mischief in mind. "Very well. However, if _I_ win, you will be tied up and waiting for me during two of _my_ watches."

Solona was stunned, speechless, blood immediately pounding between her legs. "I, um… what, uh…"

Leliana giggled sweetly. "Come, Warden, you enjoyed restrains last night, did you not?" Solona could only nod. Before her eyes flashed images from the night before – Leliana pushing her to the bed, using her own clothing to tie her to the bed post, ravishing her without even kissing her first. Leliana pulled on her to get her moving once more. "Well, bondage is something I'm intimately familiar with, but never in this role. To see such a tall, strong woman submit to me – it lights a fire within me. To have control over you…" The bard shivered, her pupils dilating as she looked up at her lover.

Blinking, Solona let her mind picture Leliana's description as the bard led her to their rooms. She had a feeling they would be late in leaving the castle…

* * *

They left Redcliffe two hours later, much to Leliana's self-satisfied amusement. As they rode out, Alistair rode up alongside her.

"So… Jowan."

Solona scowled atop her horse. Alistair immediately got a guilty look. "What about him?"

"I just… is there a reason we didn't stay?"

Her scowl deepened. "Neither him nor I wanted me there for his execution."

She urged her horse forward, leaving him behind her. She wasn't angry, per se, but she also didn't wish to dwell. She was at peace with his death – the man deserved it, given the crimes he had committed – but that didn't mean she wanted to talk about it. She'd already done that with Leliana, who could simply listen and comfort, and then divert her attention. She heard Leliana begin to speak, and she hoped the bard could explain all that to her fellow Warden.

She overtook Wynne and Zevran, smirking at how closely they rode to each other, talking softly. Zevran noticed her first. "Ah, Warden! You grace us with your presence!"

"I don't mean to interrupt." She couldn't keep the smirk from her face.

"Oh, knock it off right now, Solona," Wynne reprimanded. "I see that look on your face. Yes, we are officially lovers. Are you happy?"

Solona grinned. "Very. Maybe now Zevran will leave me alone."

"Unlikely," Zevran said, grinning over at her. "Wynne knows me well enough to know I will never stop looking at other women. I will stare lewdly as long as I have eyes that work."

Wynne rolled her eyes while Solona snorted. "Glad to see falling in love hasn't changed you _too_ much, Zevran."

"Indeed. I will never change my lecherous ways."

"Honestly, you two, you'd think you were _teenagers_." Wynne tutted her tongue, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes, betraying her disapproval as false.

"Very well, my dear Wynne." Solona couldn't help but smile, to know that the endearment was said out of sincerity now, instead of as a way to get under the mage's skin. "You two have been teaching the Arl's son in your magical arts. What did you eventually recommend?"

Solona's face fell, as did Wynne's. She sighed. "We recommended he go to the Circle."

Zevran knit his brows. "Even after all we learned about Andraste and the intended purpose of the Circle?"

It was Wynne who answered him this time. "Yes. He needs more training, and he cannot get it from us. His original tutor is to be executed tomorrow. The only other option is the Circle. We left a long letter to be delivered to Irving, and as his last apprentice was Solona, he should be able to take the boy on himself."

"Plus," Solona added, "he's young, far from his Harrowing. We should have the time to defeat the Blight and begin the process of… changing things. In the meantime, he'll be around people like himself, instead of his pious and misunderstanding mother."

Zevran nodded. "I suppose I can see the wisdom in that. Still, it is too bad he will be taken from his parents. Didn't you say family is not allowed to visit until after you are grown?"

"It's true. But again, we're hoping to be able to start changing things before then. If all goes well, he'll see his parents again next summer – less than a year from now."

Zevran nodded, examining the village as they passed through. "Well, you two know best, of course. And if he needs more training, to avoid another incident like the nightmare that visited this place, then I agree that he should get it. It is unfortunate that the place you tried so hard to escape is the only place that can give it to him, though."

Solona sighed. "I agree. But I don't have the time to find an alternative."

Wynne leaned over, placing a hand on her knee briefly before righting herself. "It is alright, Solona. It is not your fault that the Chantry got it so _wrong_. It is our responsibility to fix it, but that starts with defeating the Blight."

Solona stared at Wynne's caring face for a moment, then nodded. "You're right, of course." She paused, then reached out a hand to grasp Wynne's. "Thank you, Wynne."

The older mage smiled warmly. "You are more than welcome. Now, come along. I am eager to put some distance between us and the town before that storm Morrigan mentioned rolls in." She urged her horse to a trot like a pro, leaving a startled Solona and a grinning Zevran behind.

"I suppose I can see the appeal," she said.

Zevran chuckled. "Yes, she is quite the spry woman." He, too, urged his horse forward, leaving Solona staring in his dust. She recovered, smirked, and kicked her horse into a trot. For now, things were very good.

* * *

_A/N^2: A couple of notes._

_First, I think I tied up all the loose ends here, but let me know if I seem to have forgotten about something._

_Secondly, note on Leliana - people can surprise you in bed. Usually, someone might expect a masculine figure, whether male or female, to be the one who takes the lead in the bedroom, but often, the traditionally feminine woman is the one who plays the dominatrix. Now, I don't see Leliana as a professional dominatrix here, but I do see her fiery personality as one that is compatible with being both a bottom __**and**__ a top, and I wanted to include a little bit of that in this fic, as they grow and change within their relationship. It might seem a little fast, but I have first-hand experience in trying __**everything**__ within the first few months of a relationship. So I know that it's not unrealistic._

_Okay. I think that's it. Let me know what you think. :)_


	28. Chapter 27 - The Road Is Interrupted

_A/N: So this is what happens when I have such a writing streak! Another update, so quickly! And I updated my current Mass Effect Project, too! What has gotten into me?!_

_I debated whether to include this quest, but I ultimately decided to (thanks in no small part to the words Raven Sinead had to say on the matter). But I changed it around a bit to suit my characters, and because this is simply how it insisted upon being written. Once again - who am I to argue?_

_Really, there's the start of two quests here, but one of them is necessarily spread out._

_Lastly, I haven't had Solona and Alistair wrestle in a while, so... Yeah. Oh, they're **such** children...  
_

_Okay. That's all. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 27

**The Road… Is Interrupted**

Solona threw another log onto the fire, wiping her hands together to try to get the sap off. Turning, she took a seat on the ground, large logs having been unavailable where they decided to camp. A horse's snort caused her to look up for a moment, and she cursed the need for the beasts yet another time.

It actually wasn't that bad. She and her horse had a tenuous relationship starting – meaning he threw her once a day instead of once an hour – that she put up with because they had covered nearly three times their normal distance in the last day than they normally would have on foot. Max trotted along beside them happily, occasionally running off with Sten or Leliana to help hunt. Sten, too big for his horse, jogged along beside them as well, his steed acting as a beast of burden for the group, setting the group's speed with a pace he explained he could keep up for an entire day and night if need-be – his kind often did, as warriors who had no beasts of burden. He didn't seem to mind; in fact, he seemed pleased that they could now cover more ground.

Everyone was pleased with that.

Morrigan refused to ride her horse, instead traveling with them in one of her many animal forms. Alistair had silently taken the reigns of her horse when she had shape-shifted that morning, stowing her clothing in her saddlebags without a word and tying the reigns to his saddle horn. Solona had given him a look, but he had simply ignored her, taking it upon himself to care for her horse. Zevran had had the wonderful idea of using her horse as a beast of burden as well as Sten's, loading extra supplies – like food for themselves and their mounts – upon the unused horse alongside the witch's few belongings. This allowed them to leave the cart and donkey at Redcliffe, as it could not keep the same pace as the horses, anyway.

All in all, it was a good change. Solona just hated that _her_ horse seemed to have been spawned by demons.

Her attention was called back by her stoic watch-mate. "Warden," Sten rumbled, coming to stand next to her.

She looked up at him, marveling at how he towered above her, sitting on the ground as she was. "Can I do something for you, Sten?"

He hummed, peering down at her. "Why do you sit upon the ground so? It is a weak position from which to strike should an attack occur."

She tilted her head. "I never thought about that." She furrowed her brows as she considered him. "The only thing that attacks us is Darkspawn, and I can sense them before they are even aware of me." She smirked. "I can also repulse any attacker with my mind."

"I… had not considered that." He stared down at her critically. "You are not quite as callow as I thought. That is… unexpected.

She knit furrowed her brows. "You thought me callow?"

"You are young, and had to be taught to fight appropriately. You had not been long out of the Tower, if I remember correctly."

She nodded. "I suppose that is true." She peered up at him. "You have helped tremendously in that."

"As I have said, it is the responsibility of the experienced to teach those willing to learn." A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, a seeming nonsequitor. "I never told you why I killed those farmers."

It was a statement, but it was also an offer. But Solona had to tread lightly, so that she did not close him off, as he had ever been on their journeys thus far. "That is true, you haven't. Yet."

He hummed again, staring off into the woods. She resisted the urge to prompt him for more, knowing he was probably looking for words. It was what all the stoic men she'd ever known did.

Finally, just as she was getting up off the ground to go wake her replacement, he spoke, stilling her movement immediately. "I… panicked."

She knit her brows. He _panicked_? A qunari warrior, stronger than that entire family combined, _panicked_? About what?! "What caused you to panic, Sten?"

Another hum, low in his throat. "They could not tell me what I wished to know, and I allowed fear to overcome me. A haze settled over me, and when it lifted, the farmer and his… family… were dead, their blood covering my hands." He looked at her a moment before his eyes slid back to the trees, apparently done.

"Wait, Sten. What… what in all of _Thedas_ could be so important that _you_ would lose your head and slaughter those people? What could they not tell you?"

"My sword. I did not know where it was. It fell from my hands when my kith was overwhelmed by Dawkspawn, and they did not retrieve it when they pulled me from the field of battle."

"You _sword_?!" She was incredulous. How could that be so important that he would completely lose all reason? The sword he wore upon his back, the one made by the dwarves, was probably of higher quality, given its materials, available only in the dwarven mines – and therefore also its cost. No, she must be missing something. "Was this sword special in some way?"

"Yes," he grunted, finally turning to face her. "It is _Asala_, my soul. Without it I cannot enter Par Vollen, cannot give my report to the arishok. Without it, I have no soul. A warrior, a Sten, is nothing without his soul, his sword. I would be slaughtered on sight. No warrior would cast aside his blade while he drew breath."

Damn it if he didn't look close to panic, to grief, as he spoke. It was the most impassioned she'd ever seen him. Even in battle, his face was a stoic mask of calm. The only hint of anger she'd ever seen in him had been when he had challenged her tactics in Haven.

She took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing his people's beliefs in his worth with and without his sword. If this sword was so important, then the only thing for it was to try to get it back. It might even give the qunari people a reason to trust them a little – if not the people of Ferelden, then the Gray Wardens, at least. "Where were you overwhelmed, Sten? Where did you last have your _Asala_?"

He considered her for a moment, seeming to weigh her words. Finally, he rumbled, "Lake Calenhad, nearest to the village you call Lothering."

She nodded. "Alright. When we pass that way tomorrow we'll go look. We won't find much, but the beginning is generally the best place to start."

His brows furrowed. "I agree. And I have already done so, while you studied the origin of your Arcane Order at the Circle Tower. I found a scavenger, who did not have the sword on his person or in his belongings."

"In his belongings… you, uh, _checked_, did you?" He answered with a nod. "Right… Did he survive the encounter?"

"Yes. He is not the one who took my _Asala_. He was speaking and acting truthfully."

"Well, that's good. Not losing your head _again_." She peered up at him in the firelight. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Yes. The merchant he purchased looting rights from went to Orzammar, where he was to set up his wares." Sten paused. "He leaves after the autumn season."

"Shit. Dammit, Sten, why couldn't you tell me this _before_ we set out for the Brecelian Forest? And we can't turn around – the Dalish will have moved on from the forest by the end of Autumn, as well." She chewed on her lip, trying to think of a solution.

"I was not expecting that you could find it, Warden."

She looked up at him again. "But you were hoping I could?"

He blinked. "Yes. You found a legend, bewitched ashes that healed the Arl of an unknown poison." He paused again, humming to himself. "My _Asala_ is much smaller than that mountain – perhaps you could have found it."

She snorted. "Smaller, and much more portable." She crossed her arms, staring up at him again. "I swear to you, if it is at all possible, I will find your sword, Sten. I do not know if I can – hell, I don't know if I'll even survive this Blight, to be perfectly honest – but if it is within my power, I will return to you your _Asala_." She became somber, placing a hand on his arm. "No one should be without his soul."

He hummed once again. "Perhaps those words are empty, but… thank you, all the same."

* * *

Alistair was feeling… good. Yes. Good. He'd been able to bathe for the first time in a few days, luxuriating in the cold water after three days in the saddle. It alternated between insufferably humid heat and rainstorms, and he had to wear his armor through all of it, as they'd also run into more Darkspawn raiding parties. So sitting in just his trousers, having soaked in the cold water until Morrigan had yelled at him to leave the river so others could bathe, was the most physically comfortable he'd been since he had awoken to Ellia the morning they left.

He felt himself blush as he thought of her. He didn't know if he was in love with her. Probably, if he wasn't sure, then he wasn't. But he enjoyed her company, and they'd been friends for… a long time. He remembered sitting in the rafters of the stables with her as they both shirked their duties. He supposed that if he had stayed around the castle, he'd have lost his virginity to _her_, rather than the prostitute at the Pearl. His blush crept down onto his chest as he thought of how enthusiastic she had been with him, seducing him and dragging him off to his own bed before thoroughly ravishing him.

He could have gotten completely caught up in the memories, but was prevented by a large, solid object jumping on his back, arms closing around his throat.

"Let your guard down, did you, Alistair?"

"Ow- Solona!" He stood up, lifting her with him. "You might be big for a girl, but I'm still bigger than you- ah!"

She twisted, rolling out of his grip and hitting the ground, swiping a bare foot out and sending him to the ground. She was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him to the ground even as he tried to get back up. Her eyes glowed, and she grinned maniacally.

"Ow, Solona! Why are you channeling your arcane energy?! You're scary like that!"

Her eyes extinguished, leaving her with a slightly guilty look. "Sorry. I just got done sparring with Zevran, and I was feeling riled up. It snuck through without me realizing."

"That's both good and bad," he heard Wynne say as his fellow Warden got up off of him. "It's good that it's coming to you so much more easily, but you need to be able to control it. You don't want to be channeling it when you're supposed to be speaking with a diplomat or a leader."

"I disagree," Zevran chimed in, bringing an armload of wood toward the fire. "Disarming your opponent, whether physically or emotionally, is the best way to have things go your way. Imagine frightening the king with your glowing eyes, a ball of fire in your hand."

"Well, if things go our way, the next king will be _me_, so that trick just won't work," he responded, smirking at Solona as she did just as Zevran described, a ball of fire burning in her palm. "You can't scare me with your hokey-pokey magic. I know how to diffuse it." He grinned. "I also know that you have a soft spot underneath all that muscles for soft white skin and shining red hair."

She opened her mouth for a retort, but he never heard what she'd planned to say to him. Instead, all their heads turned in the direction of the river at the sound of a piercing scream.

* * *

Sten lifted his head, all thoughts of the hunt abandoned at the sound of the scream. It was feminine, and vaguely familiar. Max set off immediately, Sten bounding after him as realization overcame him – that scream fell from the lips of the orange-haired one, his_ kadan's_ mate. This was his kith, even if she was a woman who thought to fight, and he _would_ respond accordingly.

He was at the waterline only moments later, his large, powerful legs an equal match for the war hound's when he sprinted like this. What he saw made him wish he had thought to bring his sword on the hunt, instead of abandoning its weight in his tent in favor of a short bow, wanting stealth while hunting.

The bard was unclothed, a large branch in her hands as she attempted to fight off a full dozen bandits that had her surrounded. She bled profusely from a wound in her side, near her hip – impossible to forget, impossible not to favor as she attempted to defend herself. Scowling, he took in the river between them. It was not too deep, not too wide, but it was not nothing; it _would_ slow him down. As Max crashed into the water to defend his mistress's mate, Sten ran forward toward a particularly large and low-hanging branch. A running jump later, and he was swinging from the branch, landing barefoot in ankle-deep water on the other bank as the branch broke from his weight and crashed into the water behind him.

The first man died with Sten's hands breaking his neck. The second was lifted bodily from his feet, Sten raising him up and crashing him back into the ground with bone-breaking force. Max ensured the man was actually dead.

Things were not so easy after that, as a full half of the rest of the bandits turned to deal with this new threat. He heard Leliana gasp his name, a mixture of relief and fear for his safety in her voice. He could smell her fear, her blood, the stink of the unwashed bodies attacking them, the freshly-extinguished lives of the men now on the ground. He grinned terrifyingly at the men who now faced him, brandishing weapons made of steel like they would protect these men from him.

They would not.

The first man lunged, and Sten moved just enough to the side to avoid the blow, letting the man overbalance, helping him along by grabbing his sword-arm near the shoulder and yanking, feeling the arm pop out of its socket with the force. The man went crashing into the river face-first behind him, howling in pain.

The second man was just about to try skewering Sten when he suddenly stopped, seizing in place. Sten was confused until he saw the flicker of electricity dancing along the man's metal armor, and then he understood. Looking up, he saw the two Wardens coming toward them, weapons drawn and faces set in identical expressions of fury.

He grinned once more, narrowing his eyes at his next opponent. This was going to be far too easy.

* * *

Solona threw her dagger with a roar of anger, igniting it as it left her hand. It embedded itself in the skull of the last man standing, flying with so much power that it pierced right through his helm and into his head, turning the metal around it orange as it heated. He fell dead, a surprised expression still upon his face. She felt the arcane power drain away, going dormant once more as she rushed to a trembling Leliana's side.

The bard was huddled, the branch she'd been holding now on the forest floor, her arms wrapped around her stomach. It wasn't until Solona got to her that she saw all the blood, and her heart immediately dropped to her navel.

"Leli!"

She crouched next to the bard, trying to take her into her arms, but Leliana shrank away, a strangled cry erupting from her lips. "_Non! S'il vous plait, laissez-moi_!"

Solona didn't quite understand all her words, but she knew body language, and she knew something of what the bard said. "Alright, Leliana. I won't touch you. But you're injured. I need to see what's wrong, so I can make it stop bleeding."

The redhead's eyes, large with fear and adrenaline and pain, focused on hers, and a moment later she was in Solona's arms, sobbing into her shirt, clutching great handfuls of it as she tried to pull the Warden even closer. She smeared blood on the mage wherever they touched, but Solona didn't care. Her love had been attacked, alone and naked while attempting to bathe. She needed to know why.

Why was Leliana singled out? Why here, on the edge of the Brecelian Forest? Were the common bandits, stumbling upon a seemingly helpless naked beauty? She did not know, and made her _burn_ with fury.

"Alistair," she said, putting as much command into her tone as possible.

"Yeah?"

"Search them. Any clue as to why they are here. See if anyone survived, if they're carrying anything in writing, _anything_." She let her desperation leech into her voice at the end, looking up at Alistair pleadingly. He nodded and turned, directing everyone but Wynne to leave them alone.

"I've got you, Leli," she murmured, holding the woman securely as her sobs subsided. She continued murmuring to her as Wynne knelt beside them, gently examining the naked woman for her worst injuries. Solona watched her intently, focusing on the wrinkle in the older mage's forehead, the moving of her lips as she muttered under her breath, the flyaway strands of her lengthening hair that had been displaced in the fight. She didn't fail to notice how the mage's eyes drifted over the scarring on Leliana's back and sides, her fingers just grazing the ones closest to Leliana's gravest wound.

She didn't say anything regarding them, though, merely looking up and making eye contact with Solona. "It is a serious wound, but manageable. It will be tender for a few days – you and I both know that bruising is not something that can be mended by magic."

She nodded, looking down at the woman cowering in her arms. "You hear that Leliana? You'll be fine. Let's just get you patched up, and then we can be alone, alright?"

Leliana nodded, if barely, still whimpering quietly and trembling slightly. Wynne must have caught it too, however, as she began murmuring under her breath. A soft blue substance, somewhere between liquid and flame, flowed from her fingers, entering Leliana's wound. Solona watched as the jagged, bloody tear on her side began to knit, becoming smaller and smaller until it was a jagged, puckered line just above her hip. Her skin was still covered in blood, of course, but that was to be expected.

Solona stood with the bard in her arms, eliciting a nervous yelp from her as she tightened her hold on the Warden. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and put to bed, shall we?"

* * *

Leliana listened as the others talked. She was currently snuggled into the light linen sheets they were using in their bed. They would use the cured furs from their hunts as the weather got colder – she'd been saving them, asking Zevran to help her cure them by the fire each time they managed to fell something – but for now, it was much too warm, even at night, to use more than the linens. She also had a thin woolen blanket for when her Warden, who seemed to radiate heat at all times, was at watch on chilly nights and could not keep her warm.

She had lost herself when the attack came. One minute she was dunking her hair beneath the surface of the river, lathering the soap in her hands, and the next a dagger was slicing deep through her hip.

The volume of her shriek had surprised even her.

The weapon had been thrown, and she had pulled it from herself as she looked around, crouching in the water to present a smaller target. On the bank of the river she'd seed at least a dozen men, grinning to see her naked as she was. She had cursed then, as they were on the same side of the river as her clothing, and she had left her weapons in camp. She'd stumbled through the water to the other side, her only option to run, keep the noise up, and hope her companions would come quickly.

She had tripped on a rock and dropped the dagger, however, leaving her utterly defenseless. They had already been halfway across the river as she stumbled out of it, her hand on her side, willing herself to work through the pain. She'd picked up the branch and wheeled around, brandishing it as best she could with her wounded side and her naked body.

They had leered at her, a dozen half-shouted comments, all lewd in nature, tossed her way. She had panicked, making broad sweeps to keep them away. When Sten and Max had crashed through the trees, her emotions overcame her, and she had started to weep as two of them turned their focus back upon her. But then the rest of her companions were there - her Warden was there - to save her. But then the flashbacks started, her memories of having men force themselves upon her before being put back into her cell, no clothes, bleeding wounds, barely a sip of water available. It was like her mind was free to experience that now that help was assured.

She hadn't really come out of it until Wynne began to heal her. That was when she truly realized that she was surrounded by the familiar scents of tea, leather, wood, steel, and sweat, all smells she associated with the strong arms surrounding her – the scent of her lover. She had yelped when Solona suddenly stood, the bard in her arms as if she weighed nothing. The mage had then carried her to the river, ignoring her own clothed state as she gently held Leliana in the water, letting it wash away the blood that had run all down her hip and leg, covering the hand she had held the wound with and then getting wherever her hand had gone. Then the mage had carried her to their tent, drying her off gently and bedding her down with a few languid kisses. Leliana had been reluctant to let her go, but Alistair had found something, and she needed to see what it was, _why_ Leliana had been singled out and attacked. And thinking of Solona in a similar situation… well. Leliana could not blame her for it, even if Solona was unlikely to end up in a similar situation.

Zevran's voice piped up. "I can read it. Let me see it." A pause, a shuffling of paper, and then, "It is an address, and a description." He paused, then, "Leliana needs to see this, Solona."

A moment later the still-damp Warden opened the flap to their tent, holding a piece of parchment in her hand. Leliana's heart began beating faster, and her stomach turned immediately into a molten ball of dread. _Why do you react so, Leliana? You do not even know what is written therein!_

"Love, Zevran says you should take a look at this, that you'll know what it means. It looks like Orlesian, but I cannot read a word of it. He said he could, and his face got very serious once he'd read it."

Leliana reached out wordlessly, letting the linen sheet drop to reveal her naked torso. The fact that Solona's eyes did _not_ immediately snap to her breasts worried her – she must be _very_ worked up by the attack if she could not be distracted by that. Her stomach clenched tighter, the molten ball of dread heating to an uncomfortable degree. If this kept up, she would need to make an emergency trip into the trees to be sick.

When she saw what was written on the paper, the molten ball of dread turned immediately to ice.

A hand on her cheek, forcing her attention back to the Warden. "Leli? Leli, love, what is it?"

Her voice was barely a whisper when she answered. "They were assassins. Assassins sent by Marjolaine."

* * *

_PS: Raven Sinead, I have not forgotten about your smut prize (and that sounded weird...)! I just don't know yet where to put it... Any ideas?_


	29. Chapter 28 - A Detour

_A/N: Just a quick one beforehand, and then the real author's note afterward: potential, and small, trigger earning. If you don't want to read it, but still wanna read the rest of the chapter, then skip the paragraph after the section that is italicized. _

* * *

Chapter 28

**A Detour**

Solona's stomach dropped to somewhere around her knees. "What do you mean?!" Marjolaine sent assassins? To kill Leliana? But why? She was no threat to the older bard; she had not even been in Orlais in more than three years.

"This… this is a code that only I would be able to read. It tells me to come to the above address. She… she knew we would defeat these bandits, knew we would find this on them. It is _bait_." The bard's voice was flat, entirely devoid of emotion.

Solona, however, was not, standing to the full height the tent would allow and frowning down at her lover. "I will go and kill her myself."

"No, Solona, you cannot!" The bard was on her knees in a flash, catching Solona's hand in her own and halting her before she could leave the tent. "It is a trap!" She was not without emotion now, her urgency almost palpable. "She will find a way to capture you, or kill you! Just to watch me suffer."

Solona scoffed. "I highly doubt that – I am an arcane warrior. I immobilized a dragon. I think I can handle an aging bard."

Leliana's tug was more insistent. "No! You cannot! Do _not_ underestimate her!"

"She's right, Solona," came Alistair's voice from the other side of the tent's canvas. "You can't just go marching into Denerim channeling your arcane energy."

"Maker's br- are you _all_ listening?!"

A beat of silence. "Well, Morrigan stomped off to sulk by her fire," Zevran answered, "and Sten took Max to go patrol the area. So, _really_ it is just Wynne, Alistair, and myself."

She sighed. "So all who would care…"

"Yes, yes, that is true." She rolled her eyes. "Leliana is right, Solona. You cannot simply go to that address and storm in. The Templars would be able to detect your magic use, firstly. Secondly, you are wanted by Loghain's men, and your highly recognizable visage has not changed. And thirdly, well… we all want the satisfaction of cutting the bitch's throat."

"I agree," Alistair interjected, a steel in his voice she usually only heard when he spoke of Loghain's treachery.

"I, too, believe that this new threat must be dealt with straightaway," Wynne joined in, her voice gentler, but still determined. "And the group is stronger than the sum of its parts."

Solona blinked down at her naked lover a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Let me help you put on some clothes, Leliana, and we can plan."

Leliana nodded, scrambling out of the bedroll and taking the light trousers Solona held out to her. Once she was dressed, Solona gave her a quick hug and a kiss. "Let's get you something to eat, and we can plan our next move."

* * *

Zevran watched with interest. Alistair was pacing around the fire, his indignant anger seeming to roll off him in waves. Zevran didn't really blame him – he knew the man cared for Leliana deeply, even if it had morphed from a romantic to a sisterly love – but he also knew it would do the man no good. He needed a cool head for this.

Solona would not venture more than arm's length away from the bard, which also would do her no good. She was trapped by her need to protect her lover, which could be useful, but instead of channeling it into the fierce fighter they needed, she was letting it overcome her, making her worry about Leliana incessantly.

Leliana was very quiet. She was clearly annoyed by Solona's protective behavior, and yet still somewhat shocked by the turn events had taken. She sat staring at Alistair's pacing, clearly trying very hard not to bat the mage away, and finally failing. It was clear that someone needed to take charge.

It was becoming even clearer that _he_ was the best person to take over from here.

"What I want to know," he stated calmly, evenly, "is _how_ this woman knew where we were going to be. The only person who knew our next destination was the Arl – and anyone who might have been within hearing distance at the time."

Everyone stilled, even Morrigan, who had been in the middle of baiting Alistair, needling him with comments about the woman she had seen leaving his bedchamber the day they had left Redcliffe. He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes settling upon Leliana's last. He was surprised to find a quiet calm in her face, rather than fear. She was shocked by the day's events, yes, but she was not paralyzed by fear, the way they had described she had been initially when faced with the Gauntlet's version of her mentor. His eyes flashed, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. This was going to be perversely fun, to see the bard come to the forefront.

Leliana narrowed her eyes, then smirked, finally able to focus on something other than Solona and the worried cast of her features. "She has a spy in Redcliffe," she said simply. Zevran nodded his head.

"But how-" Alistair began, but was cut off by Solona's upraised hand, the mage watching Zevran and Leliana's silent exchange closely, her expression changing from worry to anticipation of something glorious.

"So we have two options. We can go all the way back to Redcliffe," he said, taking a step forward and holding up one finger. "Or, we can go to this address in Denerim and take care of the problem at its source."

Comprehension flashed in everyone's face, Morrigan the one to say what they were all clearly thinking. "If we take out the threat at its source, then the informant matters not." She crossed her arms, jutting out a hip. "There is a third option, of course."

Zevran glared at her, knowing what she would say and hating that she was right. "Yes, there is, though I do not consider it a _good_ option."

"What? What third option is there?" Alistair came to stand next to him.

It was Morrigan who answered. "'Tis the Chantry whore they want. She could simply leave, drawing the threat away. 'Tis the Wardens' safety, and not hers, that we need worry ourselves with."

Both the Wardens' anger was immediate. Alistair began shouting, while Solona got to her feet and glared daggers at the apostate, silently seething in her fury. As her eyes began to glow, Zevran decided to reign in the excitement of the moment.

"It is not the correct option." He looked at Leliana, who remained where she'd been seated, warring with her inner emotions. She was determined, yes, but if he had to bet, he would say that she never imagined she would have to face her former lover alone. "It is _not_ the right option, Leliana," he said, addressing her and her alone. "We must rout out the threat where it lies. And we must do it swiftly, before she has a chance to flee. The only correct option is to kill her." He regarded the bard silently for a moment. "Can you stomach that, Leliana?"

Solona began to speak, but he held up a hand, silencing her. He, too, could command authority when he needed to. "Yes," the bard said, very quietly, looking him right in the eyes. "Yes, I can stomach that. I will go if it is what you all wish of me, but if you will not let me, then we must take care of her before she comes up with far more creative – and far more effective – methods for our demise." She finally turned her gaze, capturing her lover's eyes with her own. "It is not just me she is after, my love. I am sure she has found some way to profit from the knowledge that two of my companions are the last two Grey Wardens left in all of Ferelden. Which means even if I left, she would still come after you, and you would be bereft of the one person alive who knows how she moves."

Zevran grinned. "Good. I'm glad you arrived there, as well." He looked over to Wynne, suddenly understanding Solona's fierce protectiveness – if someone were threatening Wynne in this way, his first instinct would be to rob them of their vital organs. "We must leave first thing in the morning."

Solona's tattooed face wrinkled in concern. "How will we get into the city? As you said, I'm still highly recognizable. And I'm _not_ being left out this time." She put her foot down at the last.

"I will think on it as we ride. It will take a full day to reach the city once we leave the forest, if we ride all day and into the night. I am hoping, however, that I will find some help of a different sort at the Pearl…"

Solona nodded. "Alright. I trust you, and you've dealt with this sort of thing before." She stood, leaving Leliana's side for the first time since they exited their tent, and walked over to Morrigan. Quick as lightning, she slapped the witch hard across the face.

As the witch's head snapped to the side with the force, Zevran dropped into a battle stance immediately – knowing the witch's temper, he expected a fight. But Solona cut off any words Morrigan might have as she moved her face back toward the Warden, a look of absolute fury on her face. "I told you not to call her a whore, _witch_. Learn some manners, or I shall teach you them myself."

She turned, marching to her tent, joined momentarily by Leliana, who looked equal parts concerned and pleased. Zevran stood again, eyeing Morrigan, who stared daggers in the direction of the Warden's tent as she held her reddened cheek with one hand.

Alistair made the mistake of addressing her. "Are you alright, Morrigan?"

He was on the ground in the blink of an eye, Zevran's ears registering that she'd muttered a spell even as the Warden hit the ground. Then she was stalking off toward her fire to lick her wounds. Zevran smirked, walking over to the felled Warden.

"Are you hurt?"

He scowled, then rolled his eyes. "Just my pride."

"Well, in that case, I will retire, as I believe it is you and Sten that have watch right now anyway." He walked away, placing an arm around Wynne to lead her off to bed.

"Aren't you going to help me up?"

He smirked. "No, I believe this is your penance for not learning what the look on Morrigan's face meant, Warden. You can get _yourself_ up."

* * *

They rode the entire next day, even breaking their fast and eating their supper in the saddle, stopping only to relieve themselves in the woods. It was worth it, though, as by an hour after sunset, they were as close to the city as they could get without being detected by patrols. Setting up camp a couple hours' walk outside the city, they staked the horses and set up a cold camp, not bothering with tents as they attempted to sleep in bedrolls, waiting for Zevran to sneak into the city and back out with help, and possibly even a plan.

Leliana couldn't sleep. She was far too nervous. It was not that she was afraid of Marjolaine – her trial in the Gauntlet had rid her of that paralyzing fear of ever seeing the woman again. No, she was not afraid of the woman. But that did not mean that she was not still cunning, and vicious, and Leliana could not help but to fear for the safety of her companions. They seemed to think that Marjolaine could be taken down by sheer numbers alone, that she would be like any other opponent they had faced. Only Zevran seemed to understand the true threat, and possibly Wynne, as someone who clearly understood Zevran so well. Leliana could not even truly make Solona see; the Warden – both of them, really – was far too caught up in her protectiveness. She seemed to think that she could protect Leliana, could remove this threat to her love, through sheer will alone. While Leliana appreciated the sentiment, she cursed how hardheaded it caused the mage to be. She simply would not budge in her confidence, would not see that caution, and not raw power, was what was called for in the coming confrontation.

_A slap, crisp and clear in the early dawn light, rings through the room. Leliana's head jerks back, and she finds herself reluctant to bring it up again, reluctant to look into those beautiful brown eyes, full of such disappointment._

"_How could you do this, Leliana?!"_

"_I- I'm sorry, Marjolaine." In her haste to apologize, she slips into Ferelden, the language of her dear, sweet mother. The punishment is swift, another slap to the face, harder, sending her sprawling behind her onto the bed._

"_Do not use that __**filthy**__language here!" The taller woman bears down on her, catching her wrists between one heartbeat and the next and pulling her to her feet. Pulling higher, Marjolaine soon has Leliana on the tips of her toes to alleviate the discomfort, the burn in her wrists and shoulders._

_Marjolaine's eyes burn with anger, filling Leliana with dread._

"_It was a simple job, Leliana. You were to seduce this man and kill him after his wife had discovered you. It was __**imperative**__ that you sleep with him first. Why did you not do this thing?"_

_Leliana hesitates a moment before speaking. "I- I have not lain with a man, Marjolaine. I… thought I could simply relieve him of his life and that would be enough."_

_Instead of sympathy, Marjolaine's eyes flash with wrath. "But it is not enough to simply kill someone, Leliana. You must humiliate him. Part of the job was to lie with him, allow his wife to walk in with you in his bed – preferably at the height of his pleasure – and then slip in later that night to kill him, at his lowest point." She lets go abruptly, causing Leliana to fall to the ground. "And now he is dead, and we cannot disgrace him. He died with her love for him intact. This was not part of the deal we made, Leliana. We will have much to do to make this up to the client."_

_Rubbing her wrists, Leliana looks up at her mentor, only to see the woman bearing down upon her once more._

"_And I will have to punish you well enough to make sure you do not make the same mistakes again."_

_Leliana's heart begins pounding in her chest, thinking of all the ways in which her sadistic lover might punish her._

Leliana blinked, her head shaking the memory away. Marjolaine had tied her up and blindfolded her, worked her into a frenzy with heated kisses and a riding crop, and then led a nameless man in to lie with them without so much as a by-your-leave. She had enjoyed it more than she had anticipated, but it also made her feel dirty, and horrified that _that_ was how Marjolaine had punished her, making sure she would never use that excuse to not perform a job to completion again.

But she couldn't just tell Solona this. The mage would become angrier and march off to kill Marjolaine, consequences be damned. That was not what Leliana wanted. She needed her to have a cool head. Plus, she didn't wish to hurt Solona, which was ultimately what that information would do.

No, she needed to try a different tactic.

"Solona," she whispered, seeing if the mage was awake.

"Yes, love?" They lay together in one bedroll, the mage spooning her, holding her close as they both attempted to sleep. Clearly, Leliana was not the only one unable to doze off.

"I need you to promise me something, and you can't argue."

A soft snort. "Do I not even get to hear what it is before I agree?"

"Solona, this is important."

A sigh, the air ruffling her hair and tickling her ear. "Very well. I swear I will do whatever it is you ask."

Leliana turned in the woman's arms, looking up into her face. She could barely make out Solona's face, dark as it was in the night's gloom. But her hair stood out, almost glowing in the dark. And her eyes; her eyes she would always be able to see, always know them, even how they were in the dark like this, the pupils so large they barely left a thin band of grey so pale it was almost white in the gloom.

"When we finally confront Marjolaine, take my lead. Let me be in charge of this. I do not think you understand how very dangerous she is." She placed her finger over the Warden's lips when she began to protest. "I studied under her, Solona. I am still quite intimately familiar with her, even though it has been a number of years since I knew her. I know her tactics, her style, her cruelty. I know how she seduces, I know what weapons she prefers, and I know that she would love to torture you just so she can make me watch. I will not keep you from accompanying us, but you _must_ follow mine and Zevran's lead. This is the world he and I come from – we know best how to navigate it."

Solona's narrowed eyes softened only after a full minute of silence, Leliana staring pleadingly into her eyes. She kissed the finger meant to silence her and nodded her head, and then Leliana felt strong arms and warm hands wrap around her tightly. "You are my light, Leliana. I simply wish to keep that flame aglow. But you are right – I do not know this world from which you come, and therefore it is easy for me to forget how dangerous it is, how out of my element I truly am. I will follow your lead, as you say, and trust that you are more competent in this than I." A small kiss to the top of Leliana's head. "But if that _bitch_ pulls a weapon on you, do not expect me to sit back and watch you duel with my own weapons unsheathed."

Leliana smiled. "Oh, I would not want that. I long to see the look of surprise on her face, finally, when a seeming warrior instead turns her favorite dagger into a toad."

"Oooh, I like that idea. I wonder if I could do it with a normal spell?"

"I could teach you, Warden, since none of us seem able to sleep." Wynne approached cautiously.

Leliana let go of her lover and sat up, reaching out a hand to pet Max, who had come up to them at Wynne's side. "Oh, Wynne, I'm sorry. I did not even think- you are worried about him aren't you?"

A sad smile and a nod. "Yes. I cannot help but worry, even though, as you say, he is right in his element in this venture."

Solona, having sat up as well, patted the blanket next to them. "Come, sit. Distract yourself."

Wynne took the offer, crossing her legs and sitting in a single smooth move, proving that she was not as elderly as she liked to say she was. "Thank you, Solona. I fear I was doing an abysmal job of it on my own. As Max cannot speak, he, too, was not enough to keep my mind from wandering to desolate places."

Leliana placed a hand upon the mage's, taking it and stroking the back of it with her thumb. "Oh, Wynne. He will be fine. I apologize, however, for bringing this upon all of you-"

"Stop it right now, young woman." Wynne's finger pointed into Leliana's face, cutting her off. "You did not ask for this. If you brought this upon us, then Solona and Alistair also brought the Darkspawn upon us. Is that what you think?"

"I- no, of course not! She did not ask us to follow – we chose it!"

Solona took her and roughly hugged her to her side. "Well, we are all here of our own volition – even Morrigan, though she believes she is stuck with us, even though Alistair and I told her she could go should she choose when she first joined our merry band. We are here to deal with this threat to you. Nobody _asked_ anyone else to help, Leli. We all chose to."

Leliana frowned. "You are true friends. I do not wish to put you in danger."

Wynne smiled in a motherly way. "But we put ourselves in danger almost daily in order to keep everyone safe. We do not make an exception for you, my dear."

Leliana nodded, unable to keep a smile from her face as she snuggled further into Solona's side. Her life had indeed turned completely around from the lonely, vapid girl Marjolaine had turned into the chevaliers.

* * *

It took Zevran about a half an hour to sprint up the coast and slip into the city at the docks. He had not had to run like this in months, but the constant sparring and contact with Darkspawn, coupled with the swiftness and light-footedness his race was known for, had kept him in enough shape that, while he was winded, he did not feel like dying once he arrived. It was a small matter to slip in among the elves of the city without his arms and armor, and he was at the Pearl in the blink of an eye.

Once there, he made directly for the proprietress, Sanga, who eyed him knowingly. "You need company for the night? I recognize you, elf. Your gold is more than welcome here."

He smiled. "Alas, I am no longer in a position to accept company for coin. However, I could use your help, and I am more than happy to pay for it."

Sanga regarded him for a moment, but was saved from answering when a commotion arose in the corner. Zevran turned to see a table turned on its side, cards flying in all directions. Four men stood, weapons drawn, but he couldn't see who it was they faced.

"Enough playing games Isabela! We want our money!"

Isabela? Surely it couldn't be her? The answering voice silenced his doubt, however. "I think you forget who you're speaking to," it said, and he could almost see the sway of her hips with the lilt of the voice. It was certainly amused, even if there was a hint of impenetrable steel underneath it. "I will give you _one_ chance to leave quietly."

He smirked, knowing she was about to have some fun – especially when he heard their next words. "You brazen hussy! Someone needs to put you in your place!"

He settled back to watch, Sanga eyeing him. "So you know Captain Isabela, as well?"

"It's Captain now? I should have known she would inherit the ship." A questioning brow prompted him to explain. "I killed its former master, you see."

"Right. Of course you did." She clearly didn't believe him, but he didn't care. His attention was pulled by the violence happening in the corner.

Isabela had already unarmed two of the four men, almost bloodlessly. Zevran respected the move – she didn't want the proprietress's ire from blood on her floors. This was not some whorehouse on the docks – this was the Pearl, an establishment with a reputation for elegance. Before she could fully dispatch them, the other two surrendered, hauling their friends to their feet and running out of the building.

"Be off with you," she yelled, a gleam in her eyes that Zevran could see from where he stood across the room. "And be glad I only liberated you of the weight of your gold!"

Zevran began to clap, smirking. "Bravo, Isabela. Fine work, as always."

"Zevran?! What are you doing here?" She stalked forward, all hips and legs and breasts. "Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?" She draped herself over him, pushing that marvelous bosom directly into his chest.

He smiled, extricating himself from her pawing hands. "You know it was just business, Isabela. Business that turned out well for _you_, I see – you inherited the ship, I take it?"

She smiled like a cat that had just caught a mouse. "I never _did_ like the greasy bastard. And the Siren treats me far better than _he_ ever did. Though," she added, tracing a finger from his chest down to his stomach and latching into his belt, "not nearly as well as I treated _you_ after you relieved me of him."

He chuckled. It was true – she had thanked him _profusely_ after that. However, he was no longer free to take advantage of her advances, as welcome as they might have been the last time he was here. He took a step back, and her hand fell from his trousers. "Alas, I am no longer free to take you up on your offer, Isabela. I am, how do you say… spoken for."

Her eyes widened in shock. "And what happened to the depraved Antivan Crow I knew? Who was able to capture your heart?"

He smiled, picturing Wynne's face – and bosom. "A lovely woman, and I confess, it was _I_ who courted _her_."

She raised a brow. "I see. So what are you doing in a brothel?"

"It is a long story. Do you have the time?"

She laughed. "Buy me a beer, and we'll see."

* * *

"I do not understand why we all must put ourselves in danger for that _wench_," Morrigan hissed, standing very close to Alistair, the both of them on watch.

He frowned down at her. "No one asked you to, Morrigan. You are welcome to stay here and watch the horses. Though," he added, taking a step away, "good luck getting help should any old demons come after _you_."

An image of her mother, transforming into her more terrifying shapes, danced before her eyes, and she could not suppress the shudder. She would do it for Solona, not for the Chantry tart. Oh, how she despised that woman. Her singing in the evening, playing that infernal instrument Alistair had procured for her. Her talk of the Maker and His eternal love. Her insistence that she and Morrigan speak when they were on watch together. Her moralistic rants about not killing those who were innocent – as if anyone was innocent! You were merely stronger or weaker than those around you.

But she would help this wench, because she was frightened of her mother succeeding. She couldn't admit she was frightened of things, but this – this she could admit to being terrified of. Her mother and her demon – who were one and the same now – possessing Morrigan's body, sending her soul permanently to the Fade, or worse, cannibalizing it, leaving her with no mind, no identity. The thought was beyond terrifying, and if helping the Orlesian whore ensured her Solona's aid, then she would do it.

Plus, she needed to see this through to the end. It was the only way to get the power, and she needed Alistair to be a willing participant…

Alistair was only able to take a few steps away from her when a twig cracking caught both their attention. Out of the murky trees materialized Zevran, leading a scantily clad woman. Really her clothing couldn't even be called a dress – more a corset with strategically placed drapery. She narrowed her eyes, cocking out a hip and she crossed her arms.

"It shouldn't be a surprising that we send you to a brothel and you come back with a prostitute."

The woman just laughed, an almost deep, throaty sound full of amusement. "Oh, I like her, Zevran. Do you think she'll let me take her for a spin?"

Zevran smirked, shaking his head. "Alas, Isabela, I think you will have a hard time convincing her to open up in _any_ way."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "I am _right here_, you know. No need to speak about me opening my legs in the third person."

"You are, Lady. Please forgive me," the woman said, a smile on her lips and in her voice. She stalked closer to the mage, who frowned at her. Morrigan could see an ample bosom and dark skin – though not quite as dark as Solona's – as the woman came closer, long legs shown to good advantage, finished with knee-high laced boots of worn leather. Her look was rounded out with a blue bandana holding the woman's hair out of her face, her throat and ears adorned with more than a few pieces of gold jewelry.

The woman came right up to her and leaned in, completely invading Morrigan's larger-than-normal personal space. "Will you spread your legs for me? I promise, you will enjoy it." A finger trailed down Morrigan's exposed arm.

She yanked her arm away, unable to keep a sneer from her face. "Indeed, I will _not_."

"But you had no problems with a prostitute from the Pearl the last time we were in the city," Zevran pointed out, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Alistair snickered, failing to hide his smile behind his hand.

"Oh… Sod off!" Morrigan shouted her answer, words she had never uttered before in her life, turning on her heel and walking away from them, their laughter following her as she marched into the main camp. They weren't far behind, but she refused to look at them as they made quick introductions with Alistair, the whore flirting with him immediately. Childish. She may as well be surrounded by children.

Solona was on her feet immediately. "Who is this, Zevran?"

"Oh, I like her, Zevran. Is she the one who captured your heart? And your manhood?" She mad a rude gesture at her crotch.

"Uh… no, Isabela. This is the other Grey Warden. And the woman you met is Morrigan, and that mountain of a qunari is Sten."

"Oh, I've always wondered what it might be like with one of those…"

Morrigan narrowed her eyes but said nothing. She watched as Leliana walked more slowly into the ring, Wynne at her side.

"Oh, perhaps it is this red-haired beauty here who has taken you away from me, Zev." She trailed a finger down his arm before stepping closer to Leliana, almost prowling like a cat. Leliana frowned, moving closer to Solona and taking her hand. Morrigan rolled her eyes at the possessive gesture.

"Zevran is not the type of company I generally keep, milady," Leliana spoke, indicating the clearly amused mage Warden was hers.

The woman's eyes gleamed in an almost predatory way, her eyes clearly raking up and down both Leliana and Solona. "I do not blame you for your choice. Us Rivaini women _are_ spectacular." Her eyes snapped to Leliana's. "I'm okay with sharing if _you_ are. And perhaps Zevran, too…"

"No," Zevran said, striding forward to stand next to the eldest of the mages. Morrigan scowled as the elf took Wynne's hand, wrapping his arm about her shoulders. "No, it is not the Warden or her Lady who have stolen my heart, but this magnificent woman here."

Morrigan smirked. _That_ revelation certainly shut the scantily clad woman up. Her jaw had fallen open, her hands limply at her sides, her strut all but lost. Of course, the hardening around Wynne's eyes had not gone unnoticed to the witch, nor did the elder mage's soft smile when the assassin so brazenly claimed her as his own. She wanted to puke.

"But bedding the lot of us is not why I asked for your help, Isabela," Zevran continued, letting go of the elder mage and stepping closer to the woman – Isabela, as was clearly her name. Morrigan wanted to retch at the matching smiles of affection of Alistair and Leliana's faces as they watched Zevran and Wynne's interaction. Oh, but their approval of the unlikely romance made her desire to retch all the stronger.

"Enough," she finally spat, calling all their attention to her. "You have gone and returned with someone. So what is your plan, Zevran?"

He turned deadly serious. "It is simple, if not easy. Tonight, we walk into Denerim. Tomorrow night, we kill ourselves a bard."

* * *

_A/N: So school got a little... crazy. Or maybe I just suddenly stopped being lazy. Either way, I'm busily doing, like, **all** my reading and homework, and haven't done much more writing after this chapter. I'm going to be doing some tonight before I fall asleep, but until I'm in a good caught-up place, I can't promise a lot of writing. So updates may get fewer and farther in between. Or they may get shorter. I don't know. I tend to write all I have to write on a subject, and then that's a chapter. If there are 4000 words to write on that leg of the journey, then that's how long the chapter will be. If there are 9000, then that's how long it'll be._

_Let me know how you feel about the flashback/memory. I wasn't sure about it, but it felt in keeping with the history I'd built for Leliana. I wanted Marjolaine to be a truly terrifying figure in her memory because of what she was capable of doing, even to one she purported to love. I hope this got that across, without being **too** cruel or triggering._

_Alright. I think that's it. Goodnight, y'all!_


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